


Others Like Me

by LoveMeSomeRafael



Category: Captain America, Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Angst, Bisexual Bucky Barnes, Bisexual Steve Rogers, Bucky Barnes Needs a Hug, Bucky is Captain America, Bucky meets other people who have been kidnapped by Hydra but they're not quite like him, Do not leave these two alone together unless you like destruction, Endgame fix it, F/M, Fluff, Grieving Bucky, Healing Bucky's Past, Jealous Steve Rogers, M/M, Past Married Stucky, Pining, Slow Burn, Smut, So.Much.Swearing., Steve Rogers Needs a Hug, Steve and Bucky in the Mile High Club, Swearing, TWO Buckys in one universe!, This is really three separate parts of what should be a series but it's too late now, Widower Barnes and post-Endgame Bucky meet a Steve from another universe, widower bucky
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-02
Updated: 2021-02-20
Packaged: 2021-02-28 00:48:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 33
Words: 180,203
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22534978
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LoveMeSomeRafael/pseuds/LoveMeSomeRafael
Summary: This should be a three-part series, but it's too late now.Part One:Things are rough between Steve and Bucky.  Then Bucky's abducted by a new Hydra and meets other captive soldiers, including a woman who helps him come to grips with his torturous past.  Bucky must convince The Avengers to help destroy the new Hydra and save the captives.  Steve isn't happy about any of it.  All he wants is Bucky back in his arms.Part Two:Since Steve returned to the past two years ago, Bucky’s become a miserable wreck.  He's gotta find a new life.  He remembers something a drunken Tony said once, and learns that there’s a last chance for him to be happy.  And, honestly, what does he care if it kills him, instead?  Landing, gravely injured but alive, in an alternate universe, he finds that he has a chance to do some things over again, and to finally be home for good.Part Three:Barnes is trying to find his way now that Steve's been killed and he is Captain America.  Until a half-dead Steve Rogers from yet another universe shows up, betrayed by his own Avengers.  How the hell is Barnes supposed to deal with another version of the husband he can't stop mourning?
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Original Female Character(s), James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers
Comments: 8
Kudos: 54





	1. Abduction

**Author's Note:**

  * For [neese96](https://archiveofourown.org/users/neese96/gifts), [CupKatyCakes](https://archiveofourown.org/users/CupKatyCakes/gifts), [itsacowluke](https://archiveofourown.org/users/itsacowluke/gifts), [HappyLittleGreyCloud](https://archiveofourown.org/users/HappyLittleGreyCloud/gifts), [waitwaitwaitok](https://archiveofourown.org/users/waitwaitwaitok/gifts), [dustypeach](https://archiveofourown.org/users/dustypeach/gifts), [SerStolas](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SerStolas/gifts), [AbbyNormal1911](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AbbyNormal1911/gifts), [Amyssia](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Amyssia/gifts), [Chinchillagris](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chinchillagris/gifts), [lyssmcgrath](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lyssmcgrath/gifts), [SouthernBlueJay](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SouthernBlueJay/gifts).



> This was my first attempt at writing anything related to The Avengers, and I was originally only focused on Bucky and Steve. So yay, they live happily ever after.  
> But then two things happened.  
> The first was Endgame, and the second was these characters refusing to leave my head until I added some chapters. So it's an Endgame fix-it, and also, I guess, a fix-it of the first ten chapters of this story.  
> I gifted the new chapters to those who left kudos and bookmarked this story because I appreciate that SO much.  
> AAAAAAAAAAAnd then I had the idea of bringing Steve Rogers back to the alternate universe I'd created. I really love this world and apparently I can't stay out of it. So now there are three parts to this story, but it's too late to split it into a collection. Oh, well.

It’s a beautiful spring day when they come for Bucky. It’s calm and sunny, just warm enough not to need a jacket, with the first promise of true summer on the breeze, and he’s walking around Brooklyn. Just walking around, minding his own business, trying to pull memories out of the deepest recesses of his mind. The places Hydra never touched. 

He stands outside a deli that he swears was there when he and Steve were kids and, judging from the age of the building and some of the fixtures, he could be right. It’s the smell that holds the closest thing to a memory for him. So he’s just standing there, breathing it in and squinting a little behind his nano mask, trying to fill in the bare sketch that _could_ be a memory, or might just be a fantasy.

When Bucky sees them coming for him, he knows they’re real enough, but he almost doesn’t believe what he’s seeing. It’s the way they move. It’s too synchronized. It’s like they’re one person in many bodies – twelve or fourteen, he thinks – moving in absolute concert without a command or even much sound. From every direction – including up – they converge on him and before he has time even to register a threat, it’s too late. They just appear from doorways, dropping down from balconies where no one had been a split second before, and piling out of a dirty, beat-up panel truck so perfectly common he hadn’t even noticed it. He feels a stupendously painful pinprick, and he’s out. They bundle him into the truck. The whole thing takes fifteen seconds and, of all the passersby on the street at that moment, not one is sure anything strange happened.

He comes to, and finds that he’s as trussed up as he’s ever been, and he’s been bound plenty of different ways in the course of his hideously eventful life. These restraints are different. They’re not the crude clamps used by Hydra back when he was first their prisoner, which relied on bulk for strength. They’re not even the crazily redundant engineered system used on him in Berlin. These are something he’s never seen before, something so advanced he thinks even Tony Stark would be impressed. For one thing, they’re too light. He knows before he tests them that they’ve got to be made of something immensely strong. Vibranium, maybe? What he knows for sure is, he can’t get out, and the people around him in the plane know it. He’s struggling against the bands holding his arms, legs, chest and abdomen, and they’re barely paying attention to him.

He wonders, irrelevantly, what happened to his nano mask. It’s when he’s testing the restraints that he realizes he can’t move his left arm. It’s just lying there, powerless, dead and useless. _How the fuck did they manage that?_

They don’t even seem to care that he’s woken up, although he sees them notice. It’s the same people who captured him in Brooklyn; he remembers catching glimpses of most of them. They’re obviously a team of some sort. Soldiers, or operatives or something. He guesses he’ll call them “agents,” for lack of a better word. They’re not wearing street clothes now; all of them are wearing what looks like tactical gear, although they’re not wearing body armor at the present. They’re speaking Russian, debriefing his capture.

A striking-looking woman with a lot of hair bound up in a tight knot at the back of her head is clearly the leader. Bucky’s fascinated for a few minutes by the fact that, although most of her hair is dark brown, there’s a section on the right side that’s blonde. He’s also fascinated because she seems to think the mission went badly, sloppily. Which pisses him off, because they sure as shit took him without a fight.

“Where are you taking me?” Bucky decides to ask, because it’s kind of getting to him the way they’re pretending he’s not there. He doesn’t like it at all. It reminds him way too much of what it was like… before. 

A few of them look at him, but none of them answers or responds in any other way. Until he hears sounds from behind him and a tall, fit, older man in the same type of tac gear as the rest of these people steps in front of him. His hair is a very short, white cap and his skin is badly weatherbeaten, as though he’s seen a lot of time in the field. Bucky thinks his head looks like a bullet, and immediately christens him Bullethead. The guy has true believer written all over him, and Bucky notices he’s holding one of those fucking stun batons he learned to hate so much. 

_No. Please, no._ These people cannot be Hydra. Hydra is dead. It can’t be happening again. He can’t be going back… there. Bucky Barnes makes a decision right then and there. He’s not going back to that. He’ll die first. Hopefully, he’ll get to take some of these motherfuckers with him. He feels a tight, cold core of fear form in his stomach, and stuffs it away like he’s done a thousand times before. That’s easy. He’s got a limitless vault inside him where he can stuff fear and pain, and get on with whatever he’s got to do.

It’s the _other_ stuff that’s always been harder to ignore. Stuff like guilt. Steve’s gonna be insane with grief and fear when Bucky disappears without a trace. And now there are more people who care about him, too. People like Sam and Natasha, Clint and Bruce and Scott. Even Tony tolerates him, although it's debatable whether Tony can be said to really _like_ anyone other than Pepper. He’s let them all down, and he knows that Steve will come looking for him. Again. That’s a whole lot of distraction he can’t afford right now, and it’s a hell of a lot more difficult to stuff that mess into the vault and slam the door shut on it.

Bullethead, holding the stun baton in one hand and smacking it into another, speaks to him in German-accented English. _Of course_ , Bucky thinks. _Why’s the accent always gotta be German?_ The dread boils inside Bucky’s chest and he stuffs that into the vault with the rancid memories that come flooding through him just hearing the guy’s voice. 

“It’s an honor to meet you, Sergeant. I’ve been studying you for a long time. The things you’ve accomplished… I feel very fortunate to have the opportunity to work with you.”

“Can’t say I feel the same,” Bucky growls. The leader of the team of agents flicks a look at him as he speaks. There’s no expression on her face. 

“Do you need anything? A drink of water, perhaps? Are you feeling all right? The tranquilizer can make some people a little queasy, I’m told.” Bucky decides he really, really hates this guy. The whole thing about being smugly courteous to a prisoner has never sat well with him. He prefers being smacked around. At least that’s honest. He doesn’t bother answering, just closes his eyes and leans his head back.

“Very well. We’ll let you sleep it off. It’s a long flight.”

They must drug him again, because the next thing Bucky knows, he’s waking up in a cell. The walls are solid, riveted metal of some indefinable dark color, and the door is a grate of thick bars. It’s so familiar he nearly vomits just from the hellish sense of _déjà vu_. It’s not the same cell, not the same place as before. But it’s close enough. In fact, it’s so close he wonders if he’s back in Siberia. He can feel the same dry cold, and smell the same musty scent.

He’s no longer bound. No need to be; he’s not getting out of this cell. It’s made of whatever metal the restraints were made of, and his arm’s still as dead as it had been on the plane. It feels unbelievably heavy. He squeezes his eyes closed as tightly as he can and concentrates on his breathing. For a full five minutes, he forces all the chaotic, roiling emotions he can’t afford right now back into the vault in his mind, and seals the door tight. 

When he opens his eyes again, he realizes that the leader of the team of… agents who abducted him is standing inside his cell holding a tray of food. He has no idea how she got there without him hearing her, but there she is. And the cell door is shut behind her. If nothing else, he has to admire her guts. She’s wearing the same tac gear as she was on the plane, and he again notices her dark hair. It’s in a plain ponytail today, and it’s strangely thick and very long. That blonde patch is cool, Bucky decides. Half her bangs are blonde, and the blonde continues a ways toward her right ear. He wonders if it’s natural. There’s something odd about the idea of hired muscle worrying about her hair but, then again, he never met a dame who didn’t. He christens her Blondie.

He nods to the tray. “You really think I’m gonna eat that?” He spits out, just to be difficult.

“I hope so,” Blondie says, in English, with an almost-perfect American accent. There’s just a slight hint of something else, something Slavic, behind it. She sets the tray down on a small folding table next to the cot he’s lying on. As she does, she looks him straight in the eye. Her eyes are large and deep brown, and unlike when they were on the plane, there’s an expression in them now. “We’ll both be glad you did.”

Bucky has no idea what _that’s_ supposed to mean. She stands up and takes a step back, looking to her side out the bars of the door. There’s someone there, and she gives the slightest nod of her head and says, “ _Devyatnadsat._ ”

_Huh_? Nineteen _what_? Bucky doesn’t get anything this chick has said so far, even though he’s understood every word.

A hulking blond guy with a military-looking haircut comes to the door and unlocks it, and Blondie turns her back on Bucky and walks out of the cell. She’s obviously not too bright, turning her back on a prisoner like that. It’s been so long since Bucky’s met anyone who wasn’t afraid of him that it never occurs to him to think this woman might not be. 

“Eat.” She says as the blond guy closes the cell door behind her. “Please.”

Bucky eats. Because why the hell not? Or _maybe_ that’s his reason. He really wonders what Blondie meant by “We’ll both be glad you did.” It’s a little more difficult to eat when his left arm’s completely useless, but he manages. He pays no attention to what the food is. It’s fuel. That’s all that matters.

There’s no way to know how long it is before they come to get him. It could be one hour, it could be five or six. There are no windows, nothing going on that he can see or hear, that might help Bucky measure the passage of time. But if there’s one thing he learned in the Army, it’s how to wait. As he does, he reiterates to himself his determination that he will not go back to being the Winter Soldier. If he has to die to escape that fate, that’s what he’s gonna do. He sits up on the side of his cot and says a little prayer that God, and Steve, will forgive him. But he’s pretty sure they’ll both understand.

It’s Blondie that leads a team of whatever-they-are to the door of his cell. They’re all the same ones from Brooklyn, and wearing the same tac gear they had on when they were on the plane, only this time, they are wearing body armor. They’re heavily armed, and they’re bristling with other weapons. The blond guy unlocks the door of Bucky’s cell and, again, Blondie just walks in casually. She does take the precaution of handing her weapon to another woman behind her, but she’s still got a massive sidearm, an automatic pistol strapped to her thigh, and three knives that he can see, not to mention some other things on her belt and in her armored vest that are undoubtedly weapons, too. 

Bucky thinks about it. Of course he thinks about it. If she’s _that_ dumb… but there are simply too many of them, and they’re just too heavily armed. Anyway, if he’s going to take somebody out with him, he wants it to be more than just Blondie. So when she takes a pair of combat boots from one of the others and kneels down to put them on him, he lets her. With only one arm, he can’t do it. 

It’s then that Bucky realizes what he’s wearing. The same black tac gear as the rest of these people. Why the idea that somebody changed his clothes while he was unconscious bothers him more than anything else that’s happened so far, he doesn’t know. But it does.

Blondie stands up when she finishes fastening the complicated buckles on his boots. Bucky stands, too, and when she signals him to, he just turns around and lets her bind his wrists behind him with cuffs of the same material he was bound with on the plane. There are ankle chains, too. This is all so fucking familiar. The helplessness. The absolute lack of options. It gets harder to ignore the terror.

They surround him – four in front, two on each side, and four in back - and walk him through what must be some kind of bunker, because there are no windows anywhere. Everything’s metal, utilitarian, ugly. _Just like before._ Again, he notices the eerie synchronization in the way these people move. They walk in step, their strides all the same length. They turn corners in formation. If he didn’t want to kill them all so badly, he might find them graceful. 

But that’s the last remotely pleasant thought he has, because they come to a set of doors that looks way too fucking familiar. Thick, metal doors with a small glass slit of a window in each. There are armed guards in front of it, outfitted and armed exactly as his escorts are, and they pull the doors open without a word or signal that Bucky can see. The escorts don’t break stride or slow in the slightest as they arrive at the now-open doors and walk into a large room where he notices several people and a bunch of what looks like… _oh, shit… oh_ fuck _no_ … 

Bucky can’t help it. He stumbles and recoils in horror when he sees that same fucking chair with the same damn restraints and the same hellish apparatus behind and above it, like a massive mechanical halo with those _things_ that clamp onto his head and…

Strong hands take Bucky’s arms and legs, and he’s lifted from the floor as if he weighs nothing and placed, quickly and efficiently, into the chair. He tries to fight, but there are too many of them, and they all seem to be a strong as he is. Besides which, he’s shackled. Eight of the black-wearing agents hold him down while Blondie engages the restraints built into the chair. One of the agents unfastens Bucky’s handcuffs once his upper arms are bound, and two others wrestle his forearms into cuffs in the chair’s arms. The rest take positions around the room, all of them with weapons aimed at him. 

Even with all the thoughts wildly careening through his brain and the horror that has broken completely free of his control, even as he screams in defiance, Bucky has the presence of mind to realize that he is the only one making any noise. From the time they appeared at his cell door to bring him to this torture chamber, no one has said a word. Not one. There have been no commands, no questions, nothing. 

Once he realizes he’s fully trapped, unable to escape no matter what he does, he stops wasting energy on shouting, even though the stream of profanity he’s been yelling helped with the panic. He needs to focus. He needs to figure out how to die before they use that accursed machine on him again. He can already feel the overwhelming agony that’s coming. _No. NO. Anything, even death, but not that._

And then something utterly bewildering happens. The rest of the team, or whatever they are, let go of Bucky now that he’s fully strapped into the chair, and back away. As they do, Blondie leans over him, ostensibly to check a strap and, so close to him that only she and Bucky can see it, flicks something into her hand from underneath a wristband she’s wearing. 

“Say nothing,” he hears her mutter into his ear as she sticks whatever it is to the inside of Bucky’s left arm. It’s tiny and apparently strongly magnetic, because he can feel it latch onto his arm. And when he does, he feels his arm come to life. 

As she backs away slightly, she again makes full eye contact and pulls at other restraints as if to check them, too. “Watch. Be ready.”

It’s so quiet he can’t be sure he heard her, and her lips don’t move as she says it, but there’s no mistaking the eye contact. 

_What. The. Fuck._

He doesn’t move his hand or his arm. Mostly because he’s so stunned.

“ _Vocem’_!” A man with a hideous scar where one eye and cheek should be barks at Blondie. She steps back from Bucky and goes rigid. Her eyes go blank. “What did you say to him?”

She looks toward the others in the room, away from Bucky. “To whom, Sir?”

“To _him_!” The man’s harsh, guttural Russian only accents the hate in his voice. He’s already pulling one of those damn stun batons from a loop on his belt. 

Blondie blinks and fights not to let amusement show on her face. 

“To… to _him_?” She asks, indicating Bucky, as though it’s the most ridiculous thing the man could possibly have suggested. “To the… cyborg murder-bot?” 

One of her team members, standing very near the scarred man, cracks a grin. It’s the most emotion Bucky’s seen on any of their faces. The guy nods to the scarred man. 

“Good one, Sir.”

And several of the others in the room laugh a little. Bucky notices that, in addition to the armed team, there are men and women in uniforms who, to Bucky’s trained eye, are clearly higher-ups. He sees, with a roll of nausea, that they are, indeed, wearing the skull and tentacles symbol of Hydra. _Bloody hell! How the fuck many times do they have to kill these assholes? Why doesn’t Hydra fucking_ die _already_? 

There are also a number of men wearing lab coats. Some of them are fiddling with dials and pushing buttons on the banks of electronic gizmos lining the walls, others are just standing, watching him as if he’s some particularly fascinating lab specimen.

That’s when Bullethead, the guy from the plane, comes from behind the chair to face Bucky. “Sergeant, welcome back. It’s very gratifying to be a part of helping you to return to your previous extraordinary level of functioning. I look forward to seeing Hydra’s most legendary asset in action. You are the model on which we’ve built these troops,” he indicates the team of armed agents scattered around the room with their weapons trained on him. Bucky notices that even the ones who strapped him into this chair are now aiming weapons at him. There’s something really odd about their positioning, though. They’re everywhere in the room. Why aren’t they all equidistant, making a perimeter around him? He doesn’t get much of a chance to consider that, because Bullethead’s not done speechifying.

“Of course, they have nothing like your ability to function as a one-man strike force, but Hydra has decided that is as it should be. After all, those with your skills have proven much more difficult to control than this… livestock. But they are useful in their own way, if only as a unit.”

There is no flicker of emotion on the faces of any of those the man’s just described as “livestock.” Jeez, Bucky thinks maybe he should be flattered. At least they’d called _him_ a weapon. 

The man goes on and on, pacing a little in front of Bucky as he warms to his sermon about the re-emergence of Hydra, so long in the making, and how he, The Asset, as they like to refer to him, will be integral to bringing it about. Bucky’s not listening. He’s too busy choking down bile and trying not to scream. 

Blondie sniffs. Just once, and very quietly, but it seems odd in the circumstances, and Bucky automatically looks at her, standing behind the preaching jagoff who’s still spouting off about the new Hydra. She moves the barrel of her weapon the tiniest fraction to the right. It’s a slight movement, but Bucky’s a sniper, and he sees immediately that she’s no longer aiming at him. She’s still looking at Bucky, but she’s now aiming at the man in front of him. Bucky swears she nods imperceptibly at him before sweeping the room with her eyes. 

Bucky does the same. _No one_ is aiming at him anymore.

And then she makes two short, soft whistling sounds. Immediately, Bucky hears every one of the armed agents in the room fire their weapon twice, but the only reason he knows it’s multiple weapons is the volume of the sound. The shots are in absolute, perfect synchronization. 

Almost before Bullethead falls dead at Bucky’s feet, Blondie hands her weapon to another agent beside her and steps over Bullethead’s body to Bucky. She begins unfastening the restraints holding him in the chair.

“Thirty-two, make sure they’re all dead,” the woman orders, still speaking Russian. The entire squad begins to move with a purpose, each one clearly well aware of his or her assigned task. 

_This is crazy._ One second he’s surrounded by mad scientists and Hydra brass, the next every one of them’s been double-tapped and the same babe who strapped him into the chair is now getting him out of it. Bucky feels like he’s in the hall of mirrors at Coney Island and all he can think of to say to the woman is, “Cyborg murder-bot?”

She kneels in front of him, taking a key from her armored vest. As she unlatches his ankle chains, she looks at him with a wide-eyed, open gaze. In English, she says, “You better be. Otherwise, we’re not getting out of here.”

Once again, Bucky understands her words but has no idea what they mean.

“What the hell is going _on_?” He demands. Bucky’s completely free of restraints now, but he doesn’t get up from the chair. He stays perched on the edge. 

“What would it take to get you to trust me?” The woman asks.

“A miracle, and about a thousand years,” Bucky answers.

“We have three-point-eight minutes.”

“You’ve gotta be kiddin’ me.”

The woman turns to her left just as another agent tosses an armored vest to her, which she hands to Bucky. “Put this on.” She doesn’t have to ask that twice.

While he’s strapping the vest on, her teammate tosses Blondie a weapon like the ones the agents are carrying. “You know how to use one of these?” She asks, holding it out to Bucky when his vest is secure.

Bucky gives her a look that he hopes conveys his disdain at such an asinine question, and takes the weapon. She grins a little and holds up her hands as if in surrender, mocking him back. 

“Are you… You don’t actually think I’m gonna lead you all out of here like Moses to the Promised Land, do you?” Bucky asks, incredulously.

In another situation, the offended look on her face would be funny. “I will lead my squad,” she says imperiously. “No one’s asking…” Her expression changes again, this time to one of confusion. “You do understand that _we’re_ rescuing _you_?”

“Yeah, you don’t get a whole hell of a lot of credit for that seein’ as _you’re_ the ones who brought me here in the first place.” 

She gets up and takes her own weapon back from the woman she’d handed it to. “Now we’re getting you out. Let’s go.”

Bucky stands then and slings the strap of the weapon over his shoulder. “Thanks for the help, Doll, but I’ll make my own way from here.” He begins to cross the room to the door through which they’d entered. 

“Really.” He hears the woman say from behind him, all attitude now. “You got a plan for getting out of here? Because I do.”

Bucky turns around. 

“A route, accomplices, staged weapons, supplies and transportation once we’re clear of the bunker. You got any of that?”

“This was kind of a last-minute trip,” he shrugs.

“I see. Well, just so you know, genius, that door you were about to go through leads you to a nest of guards we _didn’t_ kill. You might want to at least use the door we’re using.”

“Fine,” Bucky bites off and crosses back toward her, then follows her to a door on the other side of the room. They join three other members of the squad and begin making their way carefully and quietly down a dimly-lit hallway. 

It’s way too easy, and Bucky’s pretty sure this is all an elaborate trick of some kind. He feels completely unhinged, and he doesn’t trust these people in the slightest. Plus, they’re _dumb_. They’ve got him at the back of the line, with no one covering him. Which is why he slips down a hallway without a sound and hopes like hell he’s far away before they notice. 

He needs to think, and find a way to get his bearings. It occurs to him that maybe the best thing to do is get out of sight and hope there’s a ventilation system with shafts big enough for him to crawl through. He’s not small. That’s a pretty tall order. But desperate times…

He finds a door that’s slightly ajar and whips into the room, surprising a guy sitting at a desk. The guy’s dead before he even looks up at the noise. Closing the door, Bucky scans the room. He swears viciously when he finds a tiny ventilation grate on one wall. So much for that idea. Next, he rifles the desk to see if he can find some kind of map of this place. No such luck. He’s going to have to try the hallway again. Striding toward the door, he sees that there’s a little sign on the back of the door with the fire evacuation route marked on it. Bucky actually smiles. God bless bureaucrats.

Back in the hallway, he flattens himself against one wall and makes his way along the route the sign indicated. He makes it halfway before three people in uniforms emerge into the hallway in front of him. He takes them out easily, but it makes a lot of noise. _Damn._ He doubles his speed and comes to the T-intersection where he needs to go left. Except Bucky has the bad luck to peek around the corner just as a guy in an officer’s uniform is striding purposefully right toward him. The guy opens his mouth to shout and, at that moment, a small red dot appears in his forehead, just above his right eye, and he crumples. Bucky whips around to see Blondie standing halfway out of a doorway, her weapon still aimed at the officer. 

“They said you were smart,” she mutters quietly, and jerks her head toward the doorway she’s in. Bucky shakes his head and runs down the hall to follow her. When he gets to the room, he sees it’s some kind of equipment room, and she’s climbing a metal ladder to a hatch in the ceiling. He slings his weapon to his back and follows her up. What the hell. If she’s playing him, he’ll just kill her. 

It’s a long, straight shaft that goes God knows where, and Bucky’s very surprised to see that he and Blondie are the only ones in it. He has no idea where the rest of the squad is now. They climb up what must be four or five floors until, at last, they come to the top. The ladder ends in front of a metal doorway with no hinges or handle on this side. Blondy waits until Bucky is just beneath her on the ladder, then knocks softly on the door in a definite pattern.

The door’s instantly opened by a woman Bucky recognizes from Brooklyn, one of the ones who dropped onto the street from a balcony, he thinks. He’s surprised to see that they’re outside now. It’s nighttime, it’s freezing, and there’s a foot or so of snow on the ground. Yep. Siberia. The shaft they’ve just climbed is the only part of the bunker above ground. From outside, it just looks like a small utility shed within a large complex of buildings. Bucky has no idea what the other buildings are for, but most are big and have very few, if any, windows. They’re all made of concrete blocks. 

Again, neither woman says a word or makes a signal. The one who opened the door silently hands Blondie and Bucky white coveralls, which Blondie immediately begins to put on, so Bucky does, too. When they’re zipped into the coveralls, the woman hands them fresh weapons, and also gives Blondie a small package which she tucks into a pouch on her armored vest. With that, the other woman goes in the metal door. Bucky sees her begin to descend the ladder as Blondie closes the door and engages the latch. 

“Low and fast,” Blondie says to Bucky. She shoulders her weapon and, at a crouch, begins to sprint across the area between the door they’ve just exited and a long, low building fifty yards away. He follows, the heavy snow pulling at his legs. The white coveralls will make them harder to see in the snow, but the second they begin to run, shouting and gunfire erupt from somewhere behind them. Blondie and Bucky both aim and fire blindly behind them, not hoping to hit anything, just trying to make the assholes shooting at them knock it off and take cover. 

It doesn’t work very well, but they make it to the other building where, just as they arrive at a man-sized door within a larger roll-up door, another of Blondie’s squad opens the door and they rush in. Several bullets hit the door as it closes behind them. 

This building is some kind of garage. Blondie keeps running across the floor toward a group of vehicles, flinging both of her larger weapons to the floor as she does. “Get rid of those,” she calls behind her to Bucky, so he tosses his away, too. He’s let the second one fall before it occurs to him that she still has several guns and knives and probably other weapons, but now he’s unarmed again. _Smooth, Barnes._ Well, if he has to relieve her of some or all of her weapons, he will.

They’re running between the vehicles when a deafening alarm goes off, and the whole garage lights up like mid-day. Bucky squints but neither of them slow. Blondie approaches a long, black SUV but he’s shocked to see that, rather than climb in, she drops to her belly and slithers underneath it. 

“C’mon, Sergeant,” she hisses, and he rolls his eyes and drops to the floor, too. Blondie’s now squeezing into a shallow box of sorts built into the underside of the SUV. Bucky sees that there’s a part of the exhaust system that’s separated from the rest, hanging down on hinges. He just has time to admire the cleverness as she urges him silently with hand gestures to hurry and slide in beside her. He does, and doesn’t need to be told to pull up the hinged section of the vehicle’s undercarriage and secure the latch he sees on the inside.

It’s pitch black in the cramped space, but at least the alarm is quieter from in here. Bucky’s pressed up against Blondie and they’re both panting from exertion.

“What now?” He asks in a whisper.

“Catch your breath and _stay quiet_.”

Within a very short time, there’s yelling and the sound of running feet outside, and the SUV starts up. Bucky can feel the vehicle begin to move, and he spends the next half-hour in a very tiny space with a woman who has abducted him, put boots on him, frog-marched him into a torture chamber, insulted him several times, and is now helping him to escape. He doesn’t even know her name.

“Hey,” he says in a low voice that can barely be heard over the engine and road noise. “What’s your name?”

“ _Tishina_ ,” she hisses angrily. She’s not telling him her name. She’s telling him, in Russian, to shut the fuck up.

The SUV stops several times, and there are tense, shouted exchanges in Russian at each stop. Each conversation is about the search for Bucky and, he guesses, the team of rogue soldiers, because they keep talking about “ _Trup vocem’_ ” – Troop Eight. 

After the fifth or sixth stop, Bucky feels the SUV cross onto a gravel road. He feels Blondie tense, and she leans toward him and whispers into his ear. “This is the tricky part.”

Bucky wants to make a crack about that – which parts of this haven’t been tricky? But he has a sinking feeling he’s not going to like what comes next. 

“Unlatch that panel again, but don’t let it drag on the road.”

He does as he’s told, hoping like hell she’s not about to say what he’s afraid she is.

“When I say so, let go of the panel, and slide out as fast as you can. Try not to get run over.”

“Are you out of your _mind_?”

“Ten seconds,” she replies calmly. 

It’s both the shortest and the longest ten seconds of Bucky Barnes’s life. 

“Now!” Blondie hisses and, for good measure, gives Bucky a healthy shove onto the panel he’s holding up. It falls to the road under his weight, with him on top of it. He swears mightily – but quietly – as he slides to a painful, scraped-up stop on the gravel road. The small amount of snow in the gravel probably helped him slide further to dissipate his speed more smoothly, but not nearly enough.

He looks up in time to see Blondie fall to the road from the bottom of the SUV, sliding and only missing being run over by the thinnest possible margin. Snow flies up around her as she slides and , when she comes to a stop, she wastes no time getting to her feet and running to the side of the road, where she throws herself into a shallow ditch. Bucky gets up and does the same, then crawls through the snow up the ditch until he gets to her.

“You OK?” He asks, wiping a hand across his cheek where he is sure he’ll have gravel embedded for the rest of his life – however long that might be.

She looks at him strangely and turns to the side of the ditch away from the road. He hasn’t really had time to wonder where they are, or how she knew when to bail out of the SUV, but when he looks up, he sees that she clearly knew what she was doing, because they’re at the side of a small airfield. The SUV they were in has now turned onto a short road leading to a series of hangars and outbuildings. In the middle is a small, two-story building with more windows than the others, which looks like it houses offices.

“You can fly a jet, yes?” Blondie asks, not sounding confident.

“Which one?” Bucky asks, seeing that there are a few different types on the tarmac, some of which he can probably fly. Probably. It’s been a while.

“That one.” She points and Bucky relaxes. A little.

He’s not nearly as confident as he sounds when he says, “Yeah. I can fly that.” 

Bucky turns to Blondie. “I have no idea why the hell any of this happened, but thanks for getting me out. What are you gonna do now?”

“I’m coming with you.” 

“You’re… But…” Bucky sputters, finally resolving on a simple, “Huh?”

“It’s complicated, Sergeant, and we have a long flight ahead of us. I’ll explain once we’re in the air.”

“But what will you-“

“Sergeant. Focus. We need to go.”

“Fine. I’ll take you with me. On one condition.”

She looks at him expectantly.

“Tell me your name.”

She hesitates just a beat. “Eight.”

“Huh?”

“I am Troop Eight.”

“That’s not a name.”

The look that flashes across her face makes him wish, fervently, that he hadn’t said that.

“No. It isn’t. But it’s all I have. Can we go now?”

Bucky wants very much to apologize. He spent a very long time not knowing his own name. Being referred to as “The Asset” or “ _Soldat_ ,” with no idea that he should even have a name. He, of all people, gets why she’s looking at him like that. But it’s way too much to get into right now.

The jet’s not that far away, maybe half a mile, but it takes over an hour to get there. First, they have to low-crawl their way through the snow to a chain-link fence, and then they have to cut through that fence. That’s when they ditch the white coveralls, which helped hide them in the snow, but will make them more visible as they run from object to object to hide in the shadows from the bright light spilling over the tarmac. Finally, scraped up, cold, and tired, they make it to the shadowed side of the jet. Bucky boosts Eight up to unlatch the cockpit entrance and roll in, then she reaches down and pulls him up as he scrambles after her. He’s stunned at how strong she is. 

Once they make it into the cockpit of the jet undetected, they take a few minutes to simply rest and catch their breath. They can’t take off yet, anyway. Eight tells Bucky they’re waiting for a signal. Members of her squad are going to have to incapacitate the skeleton crew manning the airfield, or their flight will be disappointingly short.

“So what’s the signal?”

At that moment, half the little office building explodes. 

“That.”

“Subtle,” Bucky grins as they strap themselves in. He begins flipping switches and says a little prayer that flying a jet is like riding a bike. 

Whether it is or not, there are suddenly a small group of people running out of the burning building, shooting wildly at the plane that’s just roared to life on the tarmac. Bucky wastes no time getting them off the ground.

“Where are we going?” He asks once they’re airborne and out of danger.

“You tell me. This is as far as the escape plan goes. From now on, I’m following you.”

“I was afraid you were going to say that.”


	2. Switzerland

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bucky Barnes makes it out of Siberia to Switzerland with the woman who helped him escape from the new Hydra. Of course, she's the woman who helped capture him in the first place, which makes for an interesting conversation on the plane.   
> Also, don't come after me for the "there's only one bed" trope. It's a CLASSIC dammit! (Also one of my faves and hopefully this is at least a bit of a twist.) It's just too much fun to watch Bucky squirm.

For a while, Bucky concentrates on flying the jet and Blondie – Eight, he reminds himself – just keeps quiet. Flying does come back to him; it’s not long before he feels pretty good about what he’s doing. Landing is going to be trickier, but he’ll worry about that later. 

“Are there maps in here somewhere? Where are we?” He asks, once they level out at a recklessly low altitude hoping to stay under any radar that might be looking for them.

“I don’t know.”

“What? How can you not know?”

“They tell us only what we need to know. You, of all people, should understand that, _Soldat_.” Her emphasis on the last word shows Eight’s irritation with that question. 

“Shit. You’re right. Sorry. But that’s a big damn problem. I wish I had my cell phone, but you guys took everything away from me.”

Eight reaches inside a pouch on her vest and retrieves the package the woman had handed her outside the bunker. “Here are your things. Are any of those a ‘cell phone’?” She says the words like they’re new to her.

“You don’t know what a cell phone is?” Bucky asks, surprised, as he takes the package.

She says simply, “No.”

Bucky’s immensely relieved when he sees that his cell phone is, in fact, among the items in the package, and when he turns it on, it works. This is going to make things _much_ easier, because it’s not really a cell phone. Well, it _is_ , but it does a whole lot more than cell phones that _aren’t_ made by Tony Stark. Bucky pushes a button.

“Barnes, what the fuck?”

“Is that how we’re answering the phone now, Tony?” Bucky grins.

“It is today. Where _are_ you? Rogers is having kittens over here. It’s not pretty.”

“I’ll bet. Sorry. It’s a long story, and part of it is, I don’t _know_ where we are. I’m going to need your help. We’re in a jet, and I don’t know where we are, where to go, or how to get there.”

“Yeah, that sounds about right for you. Gimme a sec.” It’s not much more time than that before Tony’s voice comes back on the speaker. “Huh. Siberia again. What are you, a homing pigeon?”

“Fuck you. Where can I go? This thing’s not gonna make it far and we’re gonna need a ride from wherever we land.”

“ _We_? You meet a cute Russian girl, Barnes?”

“Matter of fact, yeah,” Bucky grins at Eight. It’s the first time he’s thought about it, but she is actually quite a dish. The grin fades a little, though, because she looks back at him in absolute perplexity.

“I don’t know if I’m Russian,” she says.

“Wait,” Tony says, a new tone in his voice. “What are you telling me? You’ve been in Siberia and you’re bringing people _back_ with you?”

“Just one.”

“Why am I not surprised you had to go all that way to find a girl who’ll spend time with you? Anyhoo, that changes things. Who is this girl?”

“She’s… She was one of the people who abducted me. But she’s also the one who got me out. I told you, it’s a long story. And, honestly, I don’t know most of it yet.”

“For fuck’s sake, Bucksticks! How do you get yourself _into_ these situations?”

“Tony…”

“OK, look. I’m not compromising anything because you got Stockholm Syndrome for some snow bunny. I’ll get you to a safe house, but then you – and she – are gonna have to deal with Natasha.”

“Kinda figured that. Fine.”

“Jarvis will send you a flight plan. Can you input it into whatever you’re flying?”

“Uh… I…”

“Yes,” Eight says, leaning forward toward the instruments and beginning to fiddle with a bank of electronic stuff that makes Bucky’s head spin.

“Yeah, Tony, we can do that.”

“Fine. You’re going to Switzerland.”

“Gonna need air clearance.”

“Already on it.”

“Thanks.”

“Listen, not that I care or anything, but Rogers is a giant pain in the ass, and he’s gonna ask. Are you OK?”

“Fine. Just got the shit scared out of me is all.”

“Good. Enjoy your blind date in a stolen aircraft. I’ll make some arrangements in Lucerne and we’ll get you and your girlfriend to a safe house. What’s her name, anyway?”

“Her name is Eight,” Bucky answers, expecting discussion about it. 

“Of course it is,” is all Tony says before ending the call.

Bucky hands the phone to Eight, who immediately pulls the back off of it. “Hey-“

“This device and this plane are not made to work together. I’m going to have to make them.” She frowns in concentration as she pulls a screwdriver from her vest and pops a panel out of the bank of instruments in front of them.

“You know what you’re doing?”

“Yes.”

“Because I’d hate for you to mess up something I need to fly this thing.”

“I know what I’m doing.”

Bucky’s gotta just accept that, because it’s not like he’ll know if she messes with the wrong thing. Not until it’s too late. “So now that we’re out of there, and we have a plan, it’s time to tell me what the hell just happened. Who _are_ you?”

Continuing to work, Eight begins to talk. “I’ll tell you what I know. Herr Hellner told you who those people are. They’re trying to rebuild Hydra. You were one of Hydra’s greatest successes, so they wanted to get you back. I’ve been hearing about you all my life.”

“All your _life_? What do you mean?”

Eight sighs. “They wanted to build an army. Basically, soldiers who were nothing but empty killing machines. With you, they succeeded for a time, which is why they tried to do the same with the others.”

“The other Winter Soldiers? The ones they gave the serum to after me?”

“Yes. But they were never a success. They were feral. Uncontrollable.”

“I know. I met them. They had me fight with them to see what they could do. They kicked my ass.”

“And killed too many handlers. Eventually, they had to be destroyed.”

“But not by Hydra. Is that what they told you? Because it wasn’t them. There was a guy… Anyway, what’s that got to do with you?”

“Even you were hard to control. There was only one of you, which worked for missions that could be handled by one person but, like I said, they needed an army.” She takes in a deep breath and lets it out. “They decided that the problem was starting with adults. Adults are too fully formed. So they used us.”

Bucky does not want to know the answer to his next question. “Who is ‘us’?”

“Me. My brothers and sisters. We have no idea whether any of us are actually related, but we call ourselves that because we’re all the same. We were taken as children, given the same serum you were, built into a squad of troops that could function together. The point was to make each one of us entirely replaceable. That way, if one of us died, or went rogue, it wasn’t any loss. Not like you were.”

“How do you know about me?”

“They told us stories about you. Threatened to bring you out of cryostasis to punish us when we didn’t comply. There were tales of your achievements, and how you lived to serve Hydra, had given your life gladly over to them…”

“That’s a damn lie!” Bucky’s sickened.

“We know. We always knew. We could always tell when you were awake, out of cryofreeze, because we could hear you screaming. There’s only one thing that makes a person scream like that. And why would the have to keep emptying you if you were so dedicated to Hydra?”

“’Emptying’?” 

“That machine that goes on your head. Empties you of all the memories they don’t want you to have? We don’t know what it’s called. But you know what I’m talking about.”

“You’ve… they’ve done that to you?”

“Yes. Many times. They do it if we let them see we have a memory, or sometimes just as punishment. But we’re careful. We try never to let them know we remember.”

“You remember your life? Before?”

“No,” Eight answers sadly. “Not even my name. I remember only the day they took us, my brother and I, from our school. They said they were doing some kind of scholastic testing, made us do physical tests, too. They chose the smartest ones who could do the physical tests, and killed the rest. Teachers. Everyone.”

“Fuck.”

“You keep saying that. What does ‘fuck’ mean?”

“You don’t know what fuck means?”

“No.” Again, that simplicity.

Bucky and Steve are going to have a good laugh about that. But he’s not going to laugh at it right now. “It’s just an all-purpose word. Means something bad. In this case, it means damn those bloody sons of bitches.”

Which he can see means nothing to her, either.

“Anyway, so you remember that day. How old were you?”

“I don’t know. I think maybe ten or so. But that’s all I remember. That one day, those few hours. Even that isn’t very clear. Just impressions. Everything else has been bunkers and missions.”

“Then how… How did you know you weren’t, you know… Hydra?”

“I told you, I remember being taken. Others do, too. And they hurt us. All the time. Call us livestock. They remind us in every possible way that we aren’t like them, we’re tools. Possessions. That’s one mistake, but they made a lot of mistakes with us. They wanted us to be a team, so we are all always together. That was a mistake, because we remind each other. And when one of us gets emptied, the others just tell that one who they are again.”

Bucky grins evilly.

“We used to look at you sometimes in your cryotube. And sometimes we’d watch you when you were awake. You were fascinating to us.”

“Great. The freak show.”

“No. You were our brother. We wanted to help you. We tried to, sometimes, when they were hurting you particularly badly, but there wasn’t much we could do. One of us would misbehave, or we’d break something and cause a fuss.” She looks up from her work. “You saw me once.”

He looks over at her, shocked. “I did?”

“They sent you on a mission. The target survived and you were badly hurt. We were just children, but when you returned, they made us watch what they did to you. So that we would know what happens if we fail. Just before they emptied you, you looked at me. It was just for a second, but in that second I could see that we’d been right. You were like us. There was another person inside, trying to escape. I told the others.”

Eight gives Bucky a warm look and lays a hand on his arm. “You must have felt very alone. But from the time we came, you never were.”

That one’s gonna take a _long_ time with a counselor to unpack.

“I felt sorry for you that day. You didn’t have anyone. So I wanted to do something for you. There was a guard. They never tell us their names, we called this one Rumpelstiltskin because he was small and wrinkly. He really liked to use his stun baton, and he _really_ seemed to hate you. He used it on you all the time. More than anyone.”

“I know who you’re talking about. I remember that guard.” It’s odd, the feeling Bucky gets from that shared memory. Before, what she’d been saying had all been kind of an abstract story. But with that, it starts to sink in that she’s telling the truth. That she really is like him. It feels… big. 

“So I went into his quarters while he was sleeping, and I reprogrammed it. It still made light and noise, but there was no shock. I thought the best I could do was to spare you from a shock or two before he figured it out, but you… You pretended it still worked. We saw you.”

Bucky’s floored. “Holy shit, I remember that, too!” 

“I was so happy you pretended. I’m glad you remember,” Eight says, beaming at him. 

“I have so many questions. How were you spying on me? How did you get into a guard’s quarters?”

“I told you, Sergeant. They took the smart ones. There were many of us, and we were children. Angry, mistreated children. We found many ways to get around the bunker without being seen. We were _trained_ to do things like that. We spied, we sabotaged things, we stole food when they’d forget to feed us. We couldn’t escape, but we could at least do those things. Like I said, they made many mistakes with us. They should’ve taken the dumb ones.”

Bucky likes the glint of malice in her eye as she says that. 

“You don’t have to call me Sergeant. My name is Bucky.”

He is in no way prepared for the sour look on her face when her head pops up from where she’s now tearing out wiring and connecting it to his phone. She gapes at him. “ _Bucky_?” 

He doesn’t like her tone at all. “Yeah. What’s wrong with Bucky?”

“They threatened us with you! ‘Comply, or we will wake the _Zimniy Soldat_ and watch while he tears you apart and eats your flesh.’ You were the boogeyman! I hate to think how many times I obeyed under that threat, and now you tell me that the boogeyman I feared so much is named _Bucky_?”

She’s truly bothered by that, which makes it even funnier to Bucky. He’s seized with uncontrollable laughter for a long time. He has to wipe tears from his eyes as he surrenders to helpless hysterics. This woman! She’s such a weird combination of opposing characteristics. She’s like a child in many ways. A lethal, treacherous child. Who, apparently, has a gift for electronics. A display lights up and he’s got headings to Lucerne.

“That’s aces!” He cries. “Now we’re cookin’ with gas. All right. Let’s see.” Bucky studies the readout on the screen for a while. “About three more hours. Just enough time for you to tell me what you’re doing here.”

Bucky’s treated to another of Eight’s perplexed looks. “Saving my brothers and sisters.”

Now it’s Bucky’s turn to be perplexed. “Huh?”

“Hydra, they’re afraid of you, and your friends. The ‘Adventures’, they call you. We’ve heard them say many times that you are capable of destroying the fragile beginning they’ve made.”

“I think you mean The Avengers. But ‘Adventures’ works, too. What’s any of this got to do with them?”

“When we learned that you were with The… Avengers, it was easy for us to suggest to Hydra that they should try to recapture you. Then they would find you for us, and send us to get you. We knew we’d have to capture you for them, of course, but then we would set you free and one of us would go with you to ask The Avengers to help us. So now here we are.”

“Why you?”

“I was the obvious choice. You escaped, and I’m the leader of the squad that was supposed to prevent that. They would have killed me. This way, my brothers and sisters can say that I went rogue, and perhaps only a few of them will be punished. Or killed.”

“Look, Eight, I hate to disappoint you, but I don’t have a vote in what The Avengers do. They might not help you.”

“But you will help me convince them.”

“What makes you so sure?”

“Because you’re our brother.”

Bucky chews on that for quite a while. This is… complicated. He believes Eight. He believes everything she’s telling him. But The Avengers won’t. Natasha won’t. She’ll be sure it’s a trap, to lure them to Hydra’s new headquarters to be captured. Well, that’s a fight for another day. What’s eating at him right now is the dawning sense that his experiences aren’t unique. There is someone else – several others – who have lived the same nightmare. People who might be able to understand what he is. Why no amount of mind control excuses any of it. 

“Eight, have you… Did they make you… _do_ things? Things like they made me do?”

“Yes.”

He waits for more, but that’s all she says. “Eight?”

“I really don’t want to talk about those things, Sergeant.”

“Bucky.”

“ _Sergeant_ ,” she says with a scowl, and he’s laughing again.

“Have it your way.” 

Bucky can’t really blame her for not wanting to walk down that particular memory lane with him. But there are a lot of things he needs to know. 

**************

Landing at the private airstrip in Lucerne is a relief for Bucky, but he’s watched Eight become more and more anxious the closer they’ve flown. By the time they’re fifteen minutes out, she’s practically vibrating out of her seat with nerves. 

“Tell me what’s wrong,” Bucky says with what he hopes sounds like kindness.

“There’s no mission plan.”

“You don’t need one. You’re with me.” Bucky’s faking that nonchalance. He knows exactly what she means. He wishes like hell he didn’t.

Her eyes are huge when she looks at him. “I haven’t studied the terrain, or the targets, or…”

“Look, Eight, quit thinkin’ about this like a mission. It’s more like a… business meeting.”

“What’s that?”

“OK, a briefing. You’ve been in a gazillion of those, right?”

“Gazillion?”

Bucky rolls his eyes and huffs out an irritated breath. “It’s a word no one’s used in fifty years. Forget it. Many. You’ve been in many briefings. We’re just going to a briefing – if I know those guys, several – and we’re gonna propose a mission. You can do that.”

“I can do that. But there are dangers I haven’t prepared for, and-“

“Relax. You’re with me.” Bucky gives her his best smile, and he’s gratified to see that it works. In fact, she looks a little dazzled, if he does say so himself. 

She doesn’t stay dazzled very long. “Who is Natasha?” 

“Natasha is, well… She’s…” He’s about to say she’s a lot of people, but he’s learning quickly that Eight is very literal. It’s cute, but it makes him have to watch how he phrases things. “She’s going to ask you a lot of questions about who you are. What you want. She’s very good at getting the truth out of people.”

“Is she going to hurt me? Because she doesn’t have to. I’ll tell her whatever she wants to know.”

“No hurting. Promise. But if I know her, the number and intensity of the questions might be unpleasant.”

Eight nods. Bucky recognizes that, too. She would’ve nodded even if he’d told her Natasha was going to torture the information out of her. She’s prepared to endure it, she just wants to know what she’s in for. _Fuck_. It’s like looking in a mirror. Bucky’s not particularly enjoying the experience of being shown just how fucked up he is.

It’s not Bucky’s best landing but, in his defense, he hasn’t flown a jet in a long time, and he’s never flown _this_ particular model before. He tries to make excuses to Eight, but she looks at him with her now-customary confusion.

“I can do a lot better than that,” Bucky says. “It’s just, this jet is, um… old, and a little temperamental-“

“I don’t know how to land a plane. I have no opinion.”

Huh. He’d expected her to pitch him some shit. How refreshing. The Avengers could take a page from her book.

Tony calls when they land. “I see you’re on the ground in Lucerne. You have the directions to the safe house, and there should be a car waiting there for you with the keys in it. J sent you a picture of the car.”

“I got it.”

“All right. Burn rubber and get out of there. Your departure from Siberia hasn’t gone unnoticed. It won’t be hard to find that jet. Make sure you’re not followed to the safe house.”

Eight unhooks what’s left of Bucky’s cell phone from the instrument panel and they quickly leave the jet for the tiny car waiting for them. They’re not followed. It’s a relief to think that they are – probably – somewhere safe, where this new Hydra can’t find them. Bucky’s exhausted. It’s been a bitch of a day.

The safe house is small and generic, on a street of very similar houses. As instructed, they drive up to the back of the house under a carport that will shield the car from the eyes of anyone who hasn’t already found the house. Bucky’s intrigued by the fact that Eight can drive, and wonders tiredly what driving lessons from Hydra are like. He assumes they taught him to fly planes and helicopters, but he doesn’t remember it, and somehow that doesn’t seem quite the same.

The first clue Bucky gets that this isn’t all going to be quite as easy as he’d made it sound is when the caretaker of the little house makes the mistake of coming around the corner of the house. Before Bucky has time to utter even the first sound, Eight’s got the poor man spread-eagled on the driveway with her knee pressing into his back and a knife at his throat. This, too, is something to laugh at later. Not now.

“Eight, no… Stand down. We expected him. He’s the caretaker. He’s a friendly. Let him up.”

Eight graciously helps the man to his feet, albeit without saying a word of apology. She’s still eyeing him suspiciously. He hands the keys calmly to Bucky with a resigned sigh and goes back to his own house next door. Apparently, this isn’t his first rodeo. Bucky thanks him in perfect Shcwyzerdütsch he didn’t even know he knew and unlocks the door. “We greet people a little differently here in the West,” he says as he motions Eight into the house before him. “We’ll work on it.”

He really doesn’t think it’s necessary for her to pull out her sidearm and sweep each of the rooms in the house. Oh, well. Better safe than sorry.

There’s food cooking on the little stove. Nice touch, that. Bucky realizes how hungry he is. Since they don’t have any luggage other than their armored vests, there’s nothing to do but just shuck them off and sit down to eat. Eight asks Bucky to tell her about The Avengers, especially those they’re going to meet, which is a conversation that could last much longer than it takes them to eat dinner, but Bucky can see Eight’s as tired as he is. He cuts himself off and suggests they get some sleep. 

She points. “There’s a bed in that room.” 

“You take it,” Bucky says generously. “I’ll take the couch.”

Confusion again. “Why?”

Bucky sputters. “Uh… Did you want to sleep on the couch?”

“No.”

“Then, I guess I don’t understand the question.”

“Why aren’t you going to sleep on the bed with me? Are we going to keep watch?”

“Uh…”

She doesn’t rescue him. Just looks at him like he has really bad manners, and she deserves an explanation. 

“We don’t… It’s not really… appropriate.”

“Why?”

“Look, ask Natasha when she gets here. Let’s just go to sleep.”

“But I’ll be cold. Won’t you?”

 _Really?_ “I’m sure there are blankets.”

Her confusion’s not gone.

“Look, Eight, why don’t you tell me what you’re used to? Maybe that’s the problem here. Where did you sleep in the bunker? Didn’t you have a bed?”

“No. A mat. A room with a mat.”

“And was it just you in the room with the mat?”

“All of us.”

“All of you.”

“Yes. There are twenty-two of us left.”

“Must be a big mat.”

“No.”

“So… what? You all just pile together like puppies?”

“Yes. It’s warmer than blankets. And the blankets there are… not good.”

“OK, well, the blankets here are nice. I’m sure of it. And you can have as many as we can find. Let’s go look and see how many there are.”

“Sergeant, did I do something wrong? You’re nervous.”

“I’m not nervous, I’m trying to make sure you’re comfortable. I’m sort of the host here, so it’s my responsibility. Look! A linen cupboard. And one, two… there are three blankets in here. Plenty.”

He shoves them into her arms.

“Don’t you want one?”

“Sure. Just one. I’ll be fine. All right? Good night.”

“Good night,” Eight says, frowning. 

Bucky hastily crosses the small distance to the couch and makes a show of being busy arranging things to go to sleep. When he dares to look toward the door of the bedroom, Eight is no longer standing there. Suddenly, Bucky finds himself looking forward to Natasha’s arrival. This woman is more than he’s equipped to deal with.


	3. Questions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bucky Barnes is in a safe house in Switzerland with a woman who might have been enslaved by Hydra just like he was. Or maybe not. Natasha's there to determine which it is.  
> And Steve's there to make sure Bucky's all right after being abducted by Hydra and nearly going back to that life. Steve's there for a few reasons, actually.

Bucky’s been in the Army. He can sleep anywhere. But when he wakes up in the safe house in Lucerne, he gets one look at Eight, and it’s obvious she can’t.

She’s in the little kitchen area, figuring out how to make breakfast with what’s there. He moves around to let her know he’s awake without startling her - it’s a little early to have to deal with a knife to the throat - and she looks over at him with a small, curt nod. Her eyes are just slightly red, a little bit sunken. 

Bucky wonders how it’s possible that the noise of cooking didn’t wake him up, until he watches her for a moment and realizes something almost frightening. She isn’t _making_ any noise. All of her movements are efficient, but excruciatingly careful, so that not one item touches another item in a way that can be heard. He wonders what that’s about, but he doubts it’s good, and he doubts it’s about being polite to him.

He asks her how she slept, because that’s what you say to a stranger in the morning.

“I was cold,” she says. 

“I’m sorry to hear that." _Well, what else is he supposed to say?_

That’s when he moves to sit up and finds a pile of blankets next to the couch on the floor. It’s gotta be all of the ones from the linen closet, and all of the ones from the bed, too. 

"What…?" Bucky’s bothered by that on two levels. Make that three. First, what the hell? Second, how the hell did he not hear her come into the room and lay down next to him? And third, did he really sleep on a lumpy, too-short couch when there was a bed available? Just because he _can_ sleep anywhere doesn’t mean he wants to if there’s an alternative.

"Did you sleep here on the floor?”

“No.”

“Then what are all these blankets doing here?”

“I laid there, but I couldn’t sleep. I was cold.” She’s annoyed with him.

“Well, yeah. You were laying on the floor. What’s wrong with the bed?”

“You didn’t make enough noise.”

 _Oh, man. It’s beginning already._ “I didn’t make enough noise? While you were trying to sleep? I don’t understand.”

“I needed to hear you breathing.”

“What, to make sure I was alive or something?”

“For the sound. I told you, I’m used to sleeping with people. It was too quiet.”

Ok, maybe he can understand that. A little. "I can’t believe I didn’t hear you come out here.“

"You did. But you just looked at me, saw I wasn’t a threat, and went back to sleep. I don’t know how you sleep with a fixed knife without cutting yourself. I’ll get you a blade that flicks out, like mine.”

“Yeah, uh, thanks.” _Huh._ Another girl might be concerned that he sleeps with a knife. This one just thinks his is the wrong kind.

Bucky gets up and Eight offers him a cup of coffee. It’s different than what he’s used to, but she’s made it with whatever their Swiss hosts have provided, and who knows what _she’s_ used to.

“You cook very quietly,” he ventures. “Silently, even.”

There’s a long silence. “I don’t want to talk about that.”

Bucky nods with understanding. “Yeah, I thought it might have something to do with them. You can tell me, you know. I have plenty of those kinds of memories, too.”

“Sergeant, please don’t ask me about… that. I’ll make noise if you want me to.”

Bucky comes around the table to stand next to her, so that he can speak very softly. “I’ll understand.”

“I know you’re trying to be kind, but please don’t make me talk about it.”

“I’m not gonna _make_ you do anything. But you and me, we’re the same.”

“No. You weren’t like us. You were special. You were… a prize. Something to be proud of.”

“And you weren’t?” _Shit._ He’s not gonna like this, he can tell from the way she’s standing, trying to be invisible, and the way she’s refusing to look at him.

“No. They saved you for special missions. Only that. When you weren’t fighting for them, you were in cryostasis. It’s why we’re close to the same age now.”

“That’s pretty much what I figured.” He’s trying to have no expression on his face or in his voice. “But what does that have to do with being quiet when you cook?”

“Our training takes a lot of time. We work very hard. And when there’s a mission, it takes a long time to plan and prepare, to learn everything we need to know, practice and plan for contingencies.”

“Of course.”

Eight’s practically swallowing her words as she goes on, resolutely refusing to look at Bucky as she finishes making eggs and toast. “But those things don’t take up all our time. So we have other duties, too. A lot of other duties. Cooking is one.”

“Okaaaaaaaay…”

She sighs and her frown deepens. “They drink a lot of alcohol. Always. And it makes their heads hurt in the morning. So if you make a noise…”

Bucky gets the picture. “Fuck.”

“They look for reasons to hurt us. You know that. It’s worst in the morning, when they’re sick, and there are cooking things available to use. Hot stoves, boiling water, graters, things like that.”

“Fuck!” He spits.

“Fuck,” Eight agrees.

“C’mere,” Bucky says, and gently slides the spatula from her hand, setting it down on the counter. He pulls her into a hug. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

He probably wouldn’t have had the guts to do it if he’d thought about it, but he’s glad he did, because Eight’s letting him hug her, and even leaning on him a bit, letting him provide what little comfort he can. But he can tell something’s a little off.

He takes his arms from around her, but leaves his hands on her shoulders and doesn’t move away. “Should I not hug you?”

“I’m glad that you want to. I like it. It’s just… Maybe you shouldn’t.”

“Because?”

“I’m not like you, Sergeant. I’m not put in a glass case and only brought out for special missions. I’m… livestock.”

“Time to learn a new word, Eight.”

“What word?”

“Bullshit.”

They have a very long talk while they eat breakfast.

**  
******

********

Natasha arrives early. She must have been on a plane before Bucky and Eight even landed in Lucerne. And Bucky’s not even slightly surprised to see that Steve is with her. He sighs in resignation as she parks a red Renault under the carport.

“These are friendlies,” Bucky tells Eight. “No need to attack.”

She doesn’t return his grin. She’s anxious again.

Steve greets Bucky with his usual bear hug, and maybe holds on a little longer than normal. 

“Jeez, Buck, you’re gonna make me old before my time,” Steve says. 

Bucky groans. “It take you the whole flight from the states to come up with that one?”

Steve grins wide, but then gets serious. “Are you really OK?”

“Nothin’ but a few scratches, and they’re already practically healed.”

Natasha doesn’t greet Bucky at all. In her usual way, she cuts right to the chase and bypasses him to come face to face with Eight. It’s an interesting meeting. For a long time, they simply look at each other. They’re clearly sizing each other up, but there’s much more to it than that. It’s like Natasha’s trying to give Eight an X-ray, and Eight’s just standing there allowing herself to be X-rayed. Natasha speaks in Russian.

“Why are you here?”

“Because we need help.”

“Who’s ‘we’?”

“There are twenty-two of us. We-“

“Do you have to start right in, Natasha?” Bucky asks, walking over to them. “Why don’t you let me pour you some coffee, at least.”

“You’re not staying.”

Bucky blinks.

“Rogers, take him somewhere,” Natasha says without looking away from Eight. “I’ll call you when you can come back.”

“Don’t you need me to help fill in-“

Now she turns to look at Bucky. “No.”

Neither Bucky nor Steve is under any impression that discussion will be effective here. So they just leave the little safe house. 

“I brought you some clothes and things,” Steve says as they stand next to the car Bucky and Eight drove from the airstrip. “Wasn’t sure what the situation would be. You wanna go eat or something?”

“Just ate. You bring any workout clothes? I could use a run.”

“Yeah.”

They have no idea where they’re going, but since Steve also brought nano masks, they don’t worry about being seen. Steve’s eidetic memory won’t allow them to get lost, either, so they just head out. Bucky does want the exercise, but he also isn’t really in the mood to sit across a small table from Steve right now.

Their friendship’s solid. Nothing’s gonna change that at this point. But it’s not easy. 

“So who’s this girl?” Steve asks.

“It’s not good, Steve.”

“Tell me.”

“It’s Hydra again.”

“It can’t be! We-“

“Yeah, well, tell that to the bunker full of assholes I just met. Assholes who have all Hydra’s old toys, one of which is that girl.”

“What does that mean?”

Bucky explains, glad they’re running so he can pound his feelings into the pavement. Lucerne is beautiful, which makes it easier to pay attention to things other than the ugly realities of what they’re discussing. Or the troublingly pretty realities of Steve Rogers. Nothing in Bucky Barnes’s life is easy.

“If all of that is true, then this seems like a no-brainer,” Steve concludes. “We gotta go in there and take that bunker out.”

“Seems like it. You think Natasha will see it that way?”

“How can she not?”

Bucky decides not to answer that very rhetorical question. 

“I thought I was gonna die when I heard you were missing,” Steve says then.

“I’m sorry. I thought I’d been careful.”

“I’m not blamin’ you, Bucky, I’m just sayin’ how scared I was. And to hear that they’d taken you back _there_? Nobody wanted me to come, but I had to. I had to see that you’re OK.”

Bucky swallows. “I’m not, you know.”

“You will be.”

“You don’t know that.”

“Do we really have to have this argument again? It doesn’t make any difference what we _say_. You’ll either be OK or you won’t. And I’m gonna believe that you will.”

“Do you ever annoy yourself with all that rah-rah optimism? Because you annoy the fuck out of everyone else.”

Steve laughs, which was the point, but Bucky’s still troubled.

“This girl, Steve, she keeps doin’ things, things you guys would think are crazy. But I don’t. I get it. This morning, she made breakfast. A whole breakfast, without making a sound. I mean _completely silent_. If I was blind, I wouldn’t have even known she was there.”

“So?”

“So have you ever tried to cook without making any noise? Do you have any idea how impossible that is?”

“Again, so?”

“So when they’re not forcing them to commit atrocities, they’re using these soldiers for slave labor. They’re torturing them just for sport. She had to learn to be silent in the morning because the Hydra assholes are always hung over, and if she made a noise… She wouldn’t tell me what they did, exactly, but she said enough. Whatever it was, it was so bad she learned to do something impossible just to avoid it.”

Steve swears appropriately.

“Bein’ around her, it’s reminding me of a lot of stuff I’d rather forget.” 

“Well, Tony’s not letting her anywhere near anything sensitive. We’ll hear her out, but she might be here a while. Meantime, why don’t you and me go back to the Compound? Natasha’s got this. There’s no reason you need to be here.”

They run for quite a distance while Bucky thinks about that. 

When they make their way to the Lake, they slow down to appreciate the splendor. “This is nice,” Steve says.

Suddenly, Bucky wants to snap at him. Bucky frequently wants to snap at Steve these days, but he bites his tongue, like he’s been doing. He knows what’s coming. Steve is the most stubborn idiot alive, and Bucky should’ve known there was no way he was going to let this moment, and this scenery, go by without trying to use it to get to Bucky.

Steve goes on. “Didn’t think when I woke up yesterday I’d be taking a walk with you in Switzerland today.”

“We’re jogging.”

“I know. Let’s not. Let’s walk.”

Bucky reluctantly slows to a walk beside Steve and, as he knew he would, Steve tries to hold his hand. Bucky takes it back. 

“It’s not a date, Steve.”

“Could be.”

“Please, don’t start.”

Steve sighs. “How long are you gonna make me wait?”

“That’s it. I’m gonna run. You can come or not.”

“Dammit, Buck!”

“Dammit, Steve!” Bucky stops and turns on him. “I am not making you wait. Waiting implies that something’s going to happen at some point, and I don’t know how I can be any clearer with you that it’s _not_. I’m no good. I’m bad business, Steve, and I’m not gonna let you waste your life. We’re friends, we’re always gonna be friends, but you gotta find somebody else to love. Why do you keep makin’ me say this?”

“Because I love you!”

“And I love you. Which is why I’m gonna run now. You do what you want.”

Steve runs, too, just like Bucky knew he would. They just run, side by side, not talking for several miles. Eventually, they run off their frustration for the moment and their natural camaraderie reasserts itself. 

“If we do this, if we hit that bunker, you got a plan?” Steve asks.

“Not yet. But I’m betting Eight does.”

“What kind of a name is ‘Eight,’ anyway?” 

“It’s not. It’s just something to call ‘em. She says they just numbered them in the order they caught them. Me, I didn’t even have that.”

“Didn’t need it. There was only one of you.”

“I guess.”

“So if she was a kid when you were there at the same time, how come she’s our age now?”

“Because they didn’t freeze ‘em. They kept aging. We didn’t.”

“This shit gets too confusing for me sometimes.”

“Only sometimes?” Bucky puts on a burst of speed and Steve chases him for a while. Which, as it turns out, is a mistake. It may be fun to run that fast, but it isn’t normal. It gets noticed.

**  
******

********

When Bucky and Steve return to the safe house, they make a lot of noise before going in. They don’t even discuss it. They’re both aware that it’s never been a good idea to surprise Natasha and, according to Bucky, Eight might be even more likely to incapacitate first and ask questions later. They’re concerned about what they’re going to find. Whether there’ll be blood. 

But when they open the door, what they find is Natasha and Eight, drinking tea, sitting comfortably at the little table. They’re already laughing, but when they look up at Bucky and Steve, their laughter redoubles, which tells Bucky all he needs to know about what they’ve been discussing. 

"Everything ok?” Steve asks warily.

“Perfectly,” Natasha answers, as if it’s a stupid question. 

“What’s so funny?” Bucky hears himself ask, and wants to smack his forehead.

“Girl talk,” Natasha answers, and Bucky sees Eight drop her eyes and smile a little shyly. It’s a weird look on the leader of a squad of elite assassins. But cute.

Steve goes right to the point. “So, what’s the verdict?" 

Natasha takes a sip of tea before answering. "We’ll discuss that in private.”

Eight stands. “I’ll go outside.”

“Maybe apologize to the caretaker,” Natasha suggests. 

Bucky can’t decide whether that’s funny or not, but he’s glad that Eight seems calmer. She nods to Steve and mutters, “Captain” as she passes him, but it seems to Bucky like she’s just going to leave without saying anything to him. That bothers him. He takes a step toward her as she opens the door, which gets them about as far away from Steve and Natasha as the tiny room will allow. 

“You OK?”

Eight looks up at him with a small smile. “Yes. You were right. She didn’t hurt me, but the questioning was unpleasant.”

With that, Eight leaves and Bucky joins Steve in sitting down with Natasha. 

“So?" Steve prods.

"She answered every question. She’s totally consistent, and her story hangs together. Plenty I can corroborate.”

“So we’re going to help them?" Bucky asks, leaning forward.

"No." 

Bucky watches, stunned, as Natasha gets up. "Let’s get going,” she says. “I want to be back at the compound by tonight.”

“What, that’s it?" Bucky cries. "Just ‘no’? They’re _torturing_ them!”

“So she says. You didn’t see any evidence of that.”

“Everything about her is evidence of that. She’s telling the truth! I saw those soldiers, Natasha. I’ve _been_ them.”

"Which is why you are the last person whose advice I’d listen to about this. It’s a trap. A pretty obvious one, really. I mean, they bring you back there, scare the shit out of you, give you a pretty girl to whisper into your ear, some poor suckers to rescue… And now you’re right where they want you, trying to get us to bite. We’re not going.” 

“So we just say 'no’ and leave? What about her? What’s she supposed to do?”

“She’s very resourceful. She’ll figure it out.” Natasha walks out the door, leaving Bucky and Steve to look at eachother.

“Guess that’s that,” Steve says.

It’s hard to tell which of them is more stunned by Bucky’s next words. “I’m not going.”

“Buck…”

“No. Don’t even bother. I was there. It’s real. I’m not leaving those people in that bunker. Maybe I can’t take the whole thing out myself, but I have to try to at least get those troops out of there. They’re prisoners, same as me and the 107th. Only worse, because they were _kids_.”

“You sure this isn’t about that girl?” Steve’s eyes narrow.

“Really? You’re gonna go _there_? Twenty-two prisoners bein’ tortured and used for slave labor, forced to do unspeakable things, _just like I was_ , and the only reason you can think of that I might wanna help them is to get laid?”

Steve’s immediately chagrined. “I’m sorry, Bucky, that was out of line.”

“Bet your ass it was.”

They glare at each other for a minute.

“Come on,” Steve pushes, pouring on the sincerity. “Natasha’s right. This does look awful fishy. I get that it’s horrible for you, but that’s the _point_. They’re _playin’_ you, Buck. Because of what you’ve been through, and because you’re a good guy who’d want to help people you think are in the same trouble.” 

“It’s real. I was _there_ , Steve.”

“Look, I know you believe that. I get it. But Natasha’s not going to sign off on it, which means the team’s not gonna do it. It’s over. You can’t go in there by yourself.”

“I’d rather not, that’s for sure. But you’re not giving me much of a choice.”

“Bucky, that’s crazy! I get that these people remind you of what happened-“

“Yeah, cuz it’s happening to them right now! How can you not want to do this?”

“Buck. You heard Natasha. This is a trap. You gotta admit, she’s more objective than you are about this.” 

Steve stands, looking into Bucky’s face and waiting for him to say something else. He doesn’t. Bucky just looks upset and determined. Steve’s only seen that one about a million times. 

"I can’t stay, Buck,” he says. “I have to trust Natasha’s judgement. This is what she does.”

“I know. I accept your decision about what The Avengers are gonna do. And now I gotta decide what _I’m_ gonna do.”

“Please don’t go alone,” Steve begs, smoothing a hand down Bucky’s hair in a caress so soft it shouldn’t even be possible for a guy that strong.

Bucky removes his hand, but squeezes it for a second.

“That much I can promise you. I’ll at least have Eight.”

A little tic at the corner of Steve’s eye is the only clue to how much that hurts. But Bucky sees it.

“Even if we don’t try to go in and get them, Eight can’t go back,” he says. “She’s got nothing. No one. And she doesn’t have a clue how to function in normal life. Until yesterday, she didn’t even know what a cell phone was.”

Bucky can see how carefully Steve chooses his next words. “Are you sure about that? What if Natasha’s right?”

“What if she’s wrong? Just give me time. I’ll figure this out.”

“All right. I don’t like this at all, but you’re a stubborn son of a bitch.”

“Yeah. Look who’s talkin’.”

Steve slaps Bucky on the shoulder as they go out the door and Bucky walks with him to the car where Natasha’s waiting impatiently behind the wheel with the engine running. 

“Not coming?” She asks Bucky out her open window. 

“Not yet.”

She smirks. “Wilson owes me a hundred bucks. He bet you’d see reason.”

“Sam hasn’t known him as long as I have,” Steve grumbles tensely as he gets into the car.

“Well, good luck,” Natasha says. “And for fuck’s sake, you can both sleep in the bed, you adolescent. She was miserable all night.”

With that, she backs up and the red Renault rockets down the alleyway, leaving Bucky standing with his mouth open, an unused protest on his lips.

**  
**  
** **

There’s nothing to do in the little safe house, and Steve’s left them nano masks, so Bucky decides they should see Lucerne. He has ulterior motives. First, he wants to see if Eight will do or say anything that will betray more familiarity with everyday life than she’s let on. Second, he wants to talk some more about her experience with Hydra, and his own. He recognizes that those two goals aren’t fully consistent; after all, one assumes she’s lying and the other assumes she’s telling the truth. But he’s been around The Avengers too long to let that bother him much.

“How do these work?” Eight asks, experimenting with the nano mask. She’s going to have to wear a wig, too, since that blonde patch in her hair is pretty distinctive. 

“Don’t ask me. I just hit people. The fancy gizmos, that’s all Tony. He calls them 'photostatic veils’, if that means anything to you.”

“Not in English. What does he call them in Russian?”

“He doesn’t.”

Eight gives a fascinated little “hmm” and deploys hers. With the short, blonde wig on, she’s a plain Swiss _hausfrau_ in the loose dress she’s wearing.

“I should have known your Natasha didn’t like me,” she muses, adjusting the hem. “She brought me a dress to wear. She must know how hard it is to fight in a dress.”

“The point is not to have to fight. ”

“Is that usually how it works out for you?” The Swiss _hausfrau’s_ mocking grin is probably not as attractive as it would be on Eight’s actual face, but Bucky likes it nonetheless.

“Good point. You gonna share your guns? Steve didn’t bring me any weapons. He thought I’d be going back with them.”

“You can have the pistol. It’s a good thing you brought your own knives. There are some in the kitchen, but they’re not balanced for throwing and the tangs are too short. Blades’ll break right off if you try to use them for stabbing.”

Bucky smirks. “This is what you think about when you’re cooking?”

“Says the man who had six knives on him when we captured you. You do it, too.”

It’s raining a little when they leave to walk around Lucerne, which is very good. An umbrella is an excellent way to hide yourself from security cameras. While Bucky holds the umbrella, Eight walks with her arm through his, and they look like any other couple strolling down the street.

“Sergeant,” Eight begins as they’re about half a kilometer from the house. “I know you stayed behind to help me, and I’m grateful. I don’t know what I’m supposed to do now. I can survive, but I don’t know how to make a life. We didn’t plan for what to do if The Avengers wouldn’t help us, because we couldn’t. We don’t know anything about how it works.”

“I know. That’s partly why I stayed.”

“And the other part?”

“Because I need to talk to you. You had the others, your ‘brothers and sisters.’ But before I met you, I thought I was the only one. There were the other Winter Soldiers, but they’re all dead. I’ve had… a lot of problems trying to go back to a normal life after… all that. I think it might help me to talk to someone else who is like me.”

“But I’m not like you. I’m-“

“Don’t say it.” He cuts her off, and he means it.

Eight sighs. “All right. I don’t want to talk about the way they are, or the things they make us do. I don’t know if it’ll make things better. But you’re our brother. If it will help you, I’ll talk about it.”

For the rest of the drizzly afternoon and into the evening, Bucky and Eight walk around a beautiful city, talking about hideous things. They’re careful and vigilant, although they’re both deeply involved in their conversation, and nothing unexpected happens. Because that’s not the plan. Attacking a couple with their skills when they’re armed, alert, and in public would simply be foolish.


	4. Knives in the Dark

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bucky Barnes is in Lucerne, Switzerland, trying to help a woman who's been held captive by Hydra, the way he was. Looks like Hydra wants them both back.

Bucky and Eight decide to stop and have dinner at a brasserie. Eight’s excited because she’s never been to a restaurant. In fact, she says everything they’ve done today has been new to her. It seems like a good idea, except that Bucky has a hard time deciding what language they should speak. They could speak English and stumble over their orders, just two American tourists, but that’s dangerous because someone might find them interesting. They could speak Schwyzerdütsch and be boring locals. That’s dangerous, too, because some overly friendly soul might want to see who they know in common. In the end, he decides they should speak High German and be standoffish tourists from too nearby to be interesting. 

“I’m no good at this stuff,” he grouses. “I’m a soldier, not a damn spy.”

“We’ll be fine. It’ll be fun. Besides, if anything happens, we’ll just shoot the place up and run, and that’ll be fun, too.” 

Bucky’s smile is as much surprise as it is amusement. “If that happens, will you do me a favor?”

“What?”

“Don’t tell Tony Stark. He already thinks I’m hopeless at dating.”

“What’s ‘dating’?”

Bucky laughs and opens the door, guiding Eight in with an arm around her waist. “I can only imagine what he’d say if he heard you ask that question when you’re actually _on_ a date with me.”

“But what’s a ‘date’?”

“Nevermind,” Bucky whispers, not wanting anyone to overhear such an odd conversation and pay attention to them. “I’ll tell you later.”

It’s late when they get back to the safe house. Even though they’ve had to be vigilant and careful, it’s been a nice afternoon. 

They haven’t spent the whole time talking about their experiences with Hydra. For one thing, they’ve been around people much of the time, so they couldn’t. For another, Bucky needs to go slow. There’s almost nothing about their experiences that isn’t ugly, or painful, or both. They’re not reminiscing. They’re debriefing after a tragedy. It isn’t easy and it sure the hell isn’t fun, and Bucky finds that he can only take so much at a time. Eight seems to feel the same; she’s asked to change the subject as often as he has. Although neither one has been exactly shocked by the things the other has shared, they’ve each had some moments of stunned disgust at the things the other’s been made to do.

One thing’s for sure after this afternoon. Either Eight’s telling the truth, or she’s the best liar Bucky’s ever seen.

Now it’s getting late, and Bucky has no idea how to approach the subject of sleeping arrangements. He’s been thinking about it on and off all day, and he’s not coming up with any good solutions. Well, he is, but not any good solutions that are actually going to happen. 

He’s wandering around the living room and kitchen of the little house, fiddling with things and generally just fidgeting, while Eight takes a shower. 

By the time Eight finishes drying her hair - which takes forever, there’s a lot of it - Bucky’s got himself completely twisted around. He’s distracted momentarily by seeing her for the first time with her hair down. He must stare, because she stops halfway to the couch where he’s perched on the edge. 

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” he says. She gives him a skeptical frown, but she finishes crossing the room and sits down near him. 

He’s kind of fascinated by her hair, and has no control over his hand, which reaches across her to pick up a lock of the blonde section.

“I like this,” he says. 

“Thank you. I’ve always had it, I think.”

Her slightly dazed look as she reacts to his closeness makes him suddenly aware of what he’s doing. He decides it probably can’t get more awkward, so he asks, “Did you talk to Natasha about, you know, sleeping arrangements?”

“You told me to, so I did. I understand now. I’m sorry for making you uncomfortable.”

Masochistic fool that he is, Bucky asks the question. “What did she say?”

“She said that sleeping together is considered very intimate. People even say ‘sleeping together’ to mean sex. She said mostly only romantic partners do it, so it would be strange for you, especially since you have a romantic partner. I’m sorry I didn’t understand. Where I’m from, sex and sleeping don’t go together.”

“I get it.”

“I do think you’re very pretty, and I like you. I would like to have sex with you, but that wasn’t what I was asking for. I just don’t know the rules here. I don’t know anything…” she sighs, embarrassed.

And now, in order not to embarrass her more, Bucky has to pretend _he’s_ not embarrassed by what she just said. “There’s nothing to be sorry for. You were just… saying what you meant. It’s fine, and I actually don’t have a ‘romantic partner’.”

“Isn’t Captain Rogers your romantic partner?” Bucky sees that Eight’s genuinely surprised.

“Steve and I haven’t been together for a long time.”

“Oh.” She sounds disappointed. “When I saw you together, I thought you were in love. And Agent Romanoff said so.”

“It’s complicated.”

Eight digests that for a minute. Her next words are quieter, almost tender. "Is it because of what happened to you?“

Bucky nods sadly. "He really doesn’t understand what I am now.”

Raising an eyebrow, but still in that soft voice, she asks, “What are you now?”

“You know what I mean. The things I’ve done. What they made me into. Those things are… He deserves someone good, like he is. I’m polluted now. Rotten.”

“Sergeant?”

“Yeah?”

“If I understand what you taught me this morning, then now is when _I_ say ‘bullshit’.”

Bucky smiles sadly. “You understand the word, but-”

“Am I polluted? Am I rotten?” She’s challenging him now.

“Of course not, but that’s different. You were a little girl.”

“You’re a fool.”

“Gee, thanks.”

“You chose nothing. You knew nothing. I saw you, remember? Your body, anyway. But the person you are, he wasn’t there. No one was there. Reactions. Compliance. Nothing more. The one time I saw a flash of _you_ , your… self, or whatever you’d call it, the fact that you were in there was the whole reason you were about to get emptied. Do you see?”

“That’s what they keep telling me, but-“

“Look at me.” He continues looking at nothing, eyes toward the floor but not seeing. “Sergeant. Look at me.”

Slowly, painfully, Bucky drags his eyes up to look into Eight’s face. “I’m not like you were. Yes, I was a child when they took me, but that just means I was easier to break than you were; I needed less erasing and conditioning. I don’t mean that I didn’t fight. I did try not to do what they want. They did unspeakable things to me, and I was ready to die rather than comply. But in the end, it didn’t matter. It was still easy to make me do what they want. All they have to do is hurt the people I love. So I do what I’m told. And although I try very hard to make them think I’m as hollow and broken as you were, I’m not.” 

She leans forward, turning her head so he has to look in her eyes again. “Think about that, Sergeant. When _I’m_ doing those things, I _know_ that they’re evil. I choose to do them anyway. So who is more polluted and rotten?”

“It’s not a choice, when they’ll torture or kill the people you love if you don’t.”

“Then how is it a choice when you don’t even _know_ you’re doing it?” 

Bucky doesn’t have an answer to that. He knows she’s wrong somehow, but he can’t figure out exactly why. What he knows is that the evil he’s done has fundamentally tainted him in a way that can never be remedied. He doesn’t feel the same way about Eight or the others. Somehow, they’re different. But he doesn’t know how. He’ll have to think about that.

“I think you’ve had enough of this for a while,” Eight says, putting a hand on his shoulder.

“Yeah.” Bucky collapses wearily against the back of the couch.

“I’m sorry this is so hard for you, Sergeant. I don’t want you to feel responsible for what those evil – bastards? Made you do.”

Bucky can’t help but grin at Eight’s newly-acquired English skills. 

She goes on. “I don’t feel responsible. I hate what I’ve done, but it’s what I had to do to survive. To keep them from hurting or killing my siblings to punish me. I know where the evil is, and it’s not inside me. It’s them. I hope I can help you know that, too.”

“Thanks. It is helping, talking to you.”

She smiles a little, looking down at her hands. “I don’t know the rules about hugging. I would like to hug you, if you want me to. If that would make you feel better.”

“It would.”

They put their arms around each other and hold each other for long enough to take several deep breaths together before getting up from the couch.

"Unless you object, I’ll sleep here tonight,” Eight says. “You’re too big for this couch. You sleep in there.” She points to the bedroom.

“But you’ll be cold and it’ll be too quiet.”

“Yes, but that’s how normal people sleep. So I’ll have to get used to it.”

Bucky squints. "You sure?“

"I’m sure. I put the blankets back on the bed. I’ll just use the one you used.”

“No. At least you should have the extra blankets. I won’t be cold.”

He goes in and brings the extra blankets back, setting them carefully on the couch. He stands, fussing with his hair for a moment. Finally, he mutters, “For the record, I think you’re pretty, too. And I like you back.”

“What record?”

Bucky laughs maybe harder than is really warranted, but the question and her adorable perplexity are a nice break from the somber mood of their previous conversation. “It’s just an expression. It means I just want you to know.”

“Oh. OK.” She says. “I had fun today. I liked walking with you. But tomorrow I’ll have to figure out what I’m going to do.”

That’s not exactly how he expected – or wanted – her to react to his minor declaration, but it’ll have to do. “Good night,” Bucky says, and shuffles slowly toward the bedroom.

It takes him a long time to fall asleep, his mind full of questions and confusion. Even when he does, he’s restless. Bucky doesn’t think he’s slept more than an hour or two when he’s awakened by a sense of danger, his fist already closed around the handle of the ever-present knife under his pillow.

“Bucky!” He hears a very low hiss in his ear, and realizes that what’s woken him is Eight, crouched next to the head of his bed. Her finger is on his lips, telling him not to make a sound. When his eyes open, she points with three fingers toward the window of the bedroom, then with two fingers toward the door. He doesn’t see anyone there, but he hears them a split second before he sees a figure peek around the doorframe. Bucky registers a sharp, silent movement next to him. The guy’s wearing something on his left eye.

No, that’s not right, Bucky realizes, as he wakes fully. In the darkness, he can just make out that it’s Eight’s knife that’s now sticking out of the guy’s eye, and he falls to the floor with a thud before he has a chance to cry out. Eight hands Bucky her pistol, and motions for him to give her his knife. He does. 

The second guy doesn’t seem to understand what’s happened to his partner, because makes the mistake of looking into the bedroom, too, and gets Bucky’s knife in his right eye. 

Bucky gets out of bed as silently as possible. He’s not wearing much, just boxers. She’s wearing black leggings and a thick overshirt Steve brought for him, but now that the guys actually inside the house are down, they both scramble into clothes, boots, and their armored vests as quickly and quietly as they can. Eight retrieves their knives, quickly wipes them off on the shirt she’d been wearing, and gives Bucky’s back to him.

There’s a wall panel in the bathroom that comes off and leads to a hole in the floor. This is a safe house, after all, so there are options for getting out, and Tony’s email explained them all before Bucky and Eight arrived. They choose to avoid the doors and windows, because Eight’s indicated there are at least three people outside. Instead, they slip into the hole in the wall and drop down to the ground under the house before Bucky replaces the wall panel. 

There’s only about a foot and a half of clearance under the house, so they’re on their bellies in damp dirt, looking out through a series of small, grate-covered openings. They look from outside like ventilation, which is what they are, but the grating is formed so that they can see out, but no one can see in. It’s also designed on well-oiled hinges so that a person can push their way silently out through any of the grates. But first they have to know where the bad guys are.

Without discussion, Eight and Bucky have slithered down to the dirt facing in opposite directions, so that they can see the ground on all four sides of the little house. There aren’t three sets of feet. There are six. That makes Bucky feel a little better about this. Sending five people seemed too easy. Insulting, really. A team of eight guys is still not enough, but that’s probably all of them; more would make too much noise. 

For long moments, they watch the movement of the feet outside for an opportunity to escape. It comes when one of the guys apparently discovers the bodies inside the house and gives a shout, causing two of the others to go in to investigate. That leaves only one on the north side of the house.

Bucky signals Eight, and they low-crawl on elbows and splayed legs to the closest grate. With a last look to determine where the others are, Bucky lifts the grate and shoots the lone guy in the throat, hoping he won’t make noise. Unfortunately, he lets out a gurgly whine as he goes down. They crawl out as fast as they can, and are sprinting for a greenbelt behind the house when someone comes to check out the noise, and the shooting starts. 

Bucky and Eight make it into the greenbelt, fairly confident there are no bad buys waiting in there based on the amount of lead the others are unloading in that direction. 

Bucky’s looking for one of two things: cover or transportation. He sees a rock wall that looks like it might be OK cover in a pinch (and they’re in one), so he heads that way and throws himself over it, Eight landing right beside him. He risks a look over the top between two rocks, while Eight looks in the other direction for options. 

She finds one.

"There’s a motorcycle! Stay here, I’ll pick you up.”

“You need keys! Nobody leaves the keys in a motorcycle. It’s not worth the risk of checking,” Bucky advises breathlessly.

Eight pulls a flat, metallic rectangle from her armored vest. “ _You_ need keys. _I_ have this." She starts to get up and Bucky pulls her down again. 

"What is that thing? Are you sure you can start that bike?”

Eight doesn’t answer right away, because they both start firing at one of the men trying to kill them, who tries to make it across the open space between the greenbelt and the rock wall. He jerks and collapses.

“Was that you or me?" Bucky asks.

"You. Nice shot.”

“If we’re stealing a bike, I’m driving,” he tells her, taking the metallic rectangle, which is about half the size of a deck of cards, from her hand. “How’s this work?”

“Why do you get to drive? You’re a better shot. You should cover us.”

“It’s the rules. I’ll explain later.”

“Fine,” Eight huffs, handing Bucky the object. Just put it on the engine. Use your right hand; it’s magnetic. The engine will start right away. I’ll cover you. Go!“

Bucky crosses to the side of the house behind them, as low and fast as he can, while Eight keeps the bad guys hunkered down with steady fire. He feels a little bad about using Eight’s naivete against her, but there’s no way he’s going to be a passenger in this situation. He mounts the bike and rocks it off the kickstand, then places the metal rectangle on the engine, beneath the gas tank. The motor starts and he grins as he makes the tight circle to where Eight is. 

He’s not wasting time when he’s exposed like this. He slows as he passes her and just grabs her with his left hand by the back of her vest and lifts her into his lap as he goes. She puts her left arm around his neck and keeps firing as they take off down the narrow, winding street.

Half a mile later, they stop just long enough for Eight to change position so she’s behind Bucky. They slap fresh clips into their weapons, and they’re off again.

"Where are we going?” She shouts into his ear over the noise of the engine and the road of the wind.

“Got any ideas?”

As he says that, a car squeals around the curve behind them and they hear gunshots again.

Eight turns around and fires a few shots, coming close, but not hitting the driver. 

“This is why I should be driving!” She cries.

“And _this_ is why _I_ should be driving,” Bucky screams back at her. “Hang on!”

She has just enough time to wrap both arms tightly around him and duck her head before they’re airborne.

Bucky had seen a dropoff from the edge of the road they’re on, and gunned the engine as the bike left the pavement, so they land quite a ways from the road in a tree-filled lot that doesn’t have any buildings on it. It’s not really a park, but it’s not a vacant lot, either. Whatever it is, it’s between the road they’ve been on and a busy thoroughfare, which is where Bucky’s headed. The car behind them has no hope of following, not only because it gets bogged down on the dropoff, but because it can’t make it through the trees. 

When they reach the thoroughfare and are rocketing through the sparse traffic, Eight starts to laugh. Bucky can feel it in her chest against his back, and he can hear it.

“I want to do that again!” She shouts into his ear. 

“Which part?” He yells back, realizing he’s laughing, too, mostly because she is. 

“The flying part, not the assholes with guns part!”

“Maybe later!”

As they enter a motorway, it occurs to Bucky to wonder whether there are helmet laws in Switzerland, because they’re not wearing any. And they really should get off this motorcycle. They’re too visible. They may have lost the assholes, but now they have to figure out where to go. He takes a random exit, thinking to ditch the bike and steal a car, so they can get out of Lucerne and call the Compound for some help. 

This part’s easy – they have Eight’s device, which it turns out has no name, and they have their pick of cars once they find a residential neighborhood. It’s so easy, in fact, there’s a bit of a discussion about a black BMW Bucky likes and a gold Mercedes Eight wants. They compromise and take the BMW, but Eight gets to drive. 

They’re strapped in the BMW, easing down the residential street while Bucky tries to figure out the car’s GPS, when another car comes careening around a corner toward them. There’s no shooting, but there’s no mistaking that the car is coming for them.

“How is that possible?” Eight shrieks.

“There’s another one behind us,” Bucky growls, working feverishly at the GPS. “Fuck! I don’t know how to work this shit. You’re the electronics whiz, you shoulda let me drive.”

“Really? We’re still arguing about that? Forget the GPS, just hold on!”

It’s a little bit impressive how Eight navigates the front yards of the neighborhood to get around the parked cars and pass the car headed toward them. The street’s so narrow, the two cars are going to have to do some maneuvering to get out of each other’s way. It doesn’t give Bucky and Eight much time, but it helps. They slam back into the street with a shower of sparks and go screaming through the sleeping neighborhood toward a busier street they can see ahead. By the time they get there, the cars following them have begun to close the distance. 

Eight screeches around the corner onto the busier street, and although there’s little traffic this late at night, there’s enough that she’s having to weave around cars. Red lights and cross-traffic don’t seem to concern her much, and they actually come close enough to collisions that Bucky can see the horror on the drivers’ faces in the oncoming cars a couple of times. 

Now there’s a helicopter overhead. It’s small and black, with an enclosed tail rotor, and nothing about it looks friendly. This is going to be a problem. 

The cars chasing them catch up – Bucky’s seen them cause two accidents, and one of them’s been sideswiped, but they’re still coming. At a complicated interchange, Eight decides to get off the surface street and onto the corkscrew of ramps feeding at least three motorways going different directions. It’s smart, because there are plenty of places where the road above will conceal a quick change of route, but that’s not going to fool the helicopter for long. Luckily, on the way into the interchange, Eight manages to fake the lead car out, and as she screams onto the onramp at the last possible second, the car is unable to turn quickly enough and rams headlong into the concrete abutment, exploding in a fireball. 

“Think you can do that again?” Bucky asks. “That chopper can’t land just anywhere.”

“I got a better idea. Reach into my left breast pocket.”

Bucky does, and finds an adherent grenade. 

“Make sure you hit the right car,” Eight advises. “That’s gonna leave a mark.”

She slows just enough that the other car catches up and the driver slams their car broadside, but that gives Bucky time to flip the grenade out his window and watch it latch onto the hood of the car.

“Floor it!” Bucky shouts, and Eight uses all the BMW’s power to pull away from the slower sedan. Still, they’re way too close when it explodes. The shock sends another car, some unlucky guy in the wrong place at the wrong time, skidding into their lane and into the rear of the BMW at an angle. They spin helplessly nearly a hundred eighty degrees, and end up slamming headfirst into the concrete barrier at the side of the motorway.

As soon as they shake the fuzziness out of their heads, Eight and Bucky try to get out of the car. There’s no telling how long they have before more bad guys show up, especially with that helicopter hovering overhead. Eight’s door is jammed. Bucky’s, too, but he just uses his left hand to smash the half-open window out, so they both scramble out the window and, as if they’ve planned it, race to the barrier at the side of the ramp.

“Can you jump this?” Bucky asks.

“They modeled us on you, remember?” Eight actually smiles before vaulting the barrier and disappearing from sight. 

For a fraction of a second, between squinting at the heat coming from the car he’s just bombed and shooting a quick look up to see where the helicopter is, Bucky grins and shakes his head. _This girl._ Then he jumps.

The lateness of the hour is the only reason either of them avoids being hit as they land squarely in the middle of the roadway on the level below. Eight’s already got her sidearm aimed through the windshield at a terrified couple in an SUV who made the mistake of stopping to help her. Bucky’s just running toward the driver’s door when the SUV’s rammed so hard from behind that Eight has to leap out of the way to avoid being run over as it hurtles forward. 

That’s when the carful of goons who hit it, and the two other carloads of assholes that come to a shrieking halt next to it, spill out all the doors and come running at them. None of them have guns. They don’t think they’ll need guns to capture Bucky and Eight, because there’s a crowd of bad guys and only two of them. 

Bucky and Eight go instinctively back to back, and they’re still armed, but their attackers come upon them so fast that they’re in hand to hand combat before they have a chance to take out more than two each. Some of these guys are just meat, and out of the fight quickly. Bucky doesn’t bother to do more than punch their lights out and go on to the next one, and Eight crushes a couple of knees and one scrotum before getting to one who actually has some moves. Problem is, this one has a knife, and he knows how to use it. Eight has knives, too, but she’s down to three and she has to throw one into the throat of a guy who almost gets between her and Bucky. 

They keep coming. Bucky’s doing OK; he’s got one hanging off his neck, but that guy’s no problem; Bucky just moves back as he’s trading kicks with another guy, and flips him over the barrier into thin air before taking the wind out of the other guy with a foot to the solar plexus.

He doesn’t see the one who’s been waiting his chance behind one of the stopped cars. The guy stands with a smug slowness and aims a 9 mm at Bucky as he picks up a guy by the throat and uses his head to knock out another one behind him. But Eight sees him. She doesn’t have time to aim, just throws the knife as hard as she can in the general direction of his chest as he squeezes the trigger. She only manages to bury the knife in his stomach, but he’s so surprised and concerned that he forgets all about Bucky while he pulls at it and looks around for someone to help him.

Eight’s now got an attacker on each side, and she’s down to her last knife. Bucky turns toward her just in time to see one of them rush her. She grabs him by the arm and uses his momentum to pull him into a punishing knee to his nose, which implodes with a satisfying crunch and splash of blood. Meanwhile, the second one gets close enough to drive his knife between the plates in her armored vest. She just has time to extend her arm and punch her own knife into his chest as she falls, crumpling, to the pavement. 

Bucky takes a couple of good punches as he tries to process what’s just happened, and he sees as he head-butts one guy and tosses him into another that there’s somebody rappelling down from the helicopter.

 _Fuck. This is what he gets for trying to do a good deed._ He takes out two more with a flying cartwheel that lets him break one’s jaw on his way to planting his foot in the other’s face, and that gets him within a few feet of Eight, but there are still at least eight assholes trying to kill him. The one who’s trying to lift Eight gets an elbow to the larynx, but doesn’t go down fast enough for Bucky, so he also gets Bucky’s left fist to his face and flies backwards far enough to break his neck on the open door of a car. 

That’s when Bucky sees another asshole go flying past him, clear across the road and out into the void beyond the barrier. He doesn’t have time to wonder at that because somebody’s got him in a chokehold, and it takes him a second to get to the knife on the inside of his shin and deal with that guy. But once that’s done, he whips around to see Steve – Captain fucking America, who is supposed to be on a plane on his way back to New York - wiping up what’s left of the bad guys like he’s bored. 

“No time,” Steve shouts over the sound of the chopper, “Strap in!”

He points to where there’s a second rope, with a harness attached, looped over the barrier and trailing about halfway to where they’re standing.

“Eight!” Bucky yells.

“I got her! Strap in!”

Bucky sees that Steve’s already picking her up, so he sprints to the harness and straps it on as fast as he can. He looks up to see Sam Wilson working the hydraulic winch in the open door of the helicopter, already hauling Steve, with Eight in his arms, up into the air. Moments later, his own harness secure, Bucky is lifted skyward himself. He notes with annoyance that Natasha is flying the chopper. Had she agreed to help Eight the day before, they wouldn’t be in this mess now.

Bucky and Sam grasp each other’s wrists and Sam pulls him into the chopper and slams the door. Natasha immediately turns the helicopter away from the snarl of crisscrossing motorways and heads it out into the darkness. Bucky doesn’t care where they’re going, or why they’ve shown up now. He cares about the fact that Steve’s pulling off Eight’s vest and there is a whole hell of a lot of blood. 

She’s conscious, though. She’s lying across two seats, using some of the new words Bucky’s been teaching her and some others – in Norwegian, for some reason – that he knows are equally foul. 

“I _hate_ getting stabbed! And how embarrassing that it has to be in front of you, Captain.”

“Nah,” Steve says, “You were doin’ great. The problem was you were trying to look out for Bucky. You can’t do that. You have to watch out for yourself first, otherwise this’ll happen every time.”

 _Apparently_ , Bucky thinks, _they had time to bond on the way up to the chopper._ He shoves Steve roughly out of the way and finishes pulling the vest off of Eight, then pulls her black nylon turtleneck over her head. _Holy shit. Natasha_ wishes _she had abs like this woman’s_.

“How bad?” Bucky asks, looking for himself as Sam hands him a thick towel for the blood.

Eight grunts in pain and winces. “Hurts. Probably a collapsed lung again. I’ll be all right. I’m sorry, Sergeant. I was useless back there.”

“We got different definitions of ‘useless’.” He turns toward the front of the helicopter. “Natasha, where are we going? She needs help.”

“She’ll get it,” Natasha answers blandly. “Bruce is on the plane. He’s got all his stuff.”

“I don’t need help, Sergeant. Just time. I’ll heal, you know that.”

“Well, I’ll let a doctor tell me that, if you don’t mind,” Bucky snaps as he continues to do what he can to stanch the bleeding. It’s already almost stopped, but he doesn’t like the way she’s fighting to breathe, or the trickle of blood on the side of her mouth. 

“Been meaning to ask you about something,” he says.

“Yeah? What?”

“You called me Bucky.”

“What?”

“When you woke me up. You called me Bucky.”

“Oh, that. It was quieter. Those guys in the house were close enough to hear the ‘S’ in ‘Sergeant’.”

“Oh.”

“Sorry to get your hopes up.”

Neither one of them notice the look on Steve’s face, or the tension in every muscle of his body. They’re focused on each other.


	5. Flight Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bucky Barnes is on his way back to the Avengers' Compound with several of the Avengers and the woman who's been a captive soldier of Hydra since she was a child. Steve's not happy to see how close Bucky and "Eight" are getting. Because Bucky belongs to _him_ and he decides to prove that to Bucky. 
> 
> (Yes I recognize that it's about fucking time for somebody to get boned all up in here. Hopefully the wait was worth it.)

Bucky can see that the wound in Eight’s chest includes a punctured lung, because there’s air bubbling through the blood around the handle of the still-present knife. He tears open the packs of sterile gauze suffused with petrolatum Sam hands him, and wraps the gauze pads carefully around the base to create an airtight seal. Eight sucks in her breath and winces, but doesn’t cry out despite the pain it must cause.

“Let me give you some pain medicine,” Bucky asks softly, and at that point she whimpers a bit. He immediately wants to smack himself for such a stupid turn of phrase. “No! No, it’s medicine that stops pain. It’s good. It makes you happy and sleepy.” 

Eight’s expression’s hard to read right then, but her voice is tight. “I don’t need that.”

“C’mon, you have a knife in your chest. That hurts. I would know.”

“I’ll be fine,” she says flatly.

Bucky decides it’s not worth it. Being in untreated pain won’t cost her as much energy as arguing with him about it. He’s disappointed and, if he’s being honest, a little hurt, that she doesn’t believe him. But he just has to accept that she can’t trust him any further than he would be able to trust her in the same situation. It makes him hate Hydra just a little bit more.

The flight to the airstrip where their plane is parked is short and doesn’t give Bucky much chance to ask questions about why so many of The Avengers are here, and why they told him they were leaving. In any event, he’s too concerned about Eight to feel very curious about anything else, even though she keeps telling him not to worry. The flight is long enough, however, for him to see the telltale signs of fear start to assert themselves over her pain.

Looking into her widening eyes and noting the wrinkles between her eyebrows, Bucky knows it’s there, but he doesn’t know why.

“You’re safe,” he says, dressing the stab wound to keep it clean and soak up the last of the bleeding. He thinks maybe the Hydra scientists have improved their version of the serum, because she’s healing even faster than he does. Not as fast as Steve, but immeasurably faster than normal. “There’s nothing to worry about now. Bruce is a doctor. He’s several kinds of doctor, actually. He’ll help you.”

“Please, Sergeant, I don’t need a doctor,” she begs. Her anxiety isn’t lessened by what he’s saying, it’s increased. “I’m healing. You can see that.”

_So that’s it._

“He’s not going to hurt you.”

“But you said he’s a doctor.”

Bucky thinks for a moment before he speaks. “He’s not a Hydra doctor.”

“Does that matter?”

“Yes, it does.” Bucky smooths down Eight’s hair, as much a comforting gesture as because it’s escaping the complex, massive knot behind her head. “And I’m gonna be right there with you. Can you just trust me on this?”

He’s rewarded by a slight relaxation in her muscles and a nod, although she still looks deeply concerned as she searches his eyes, he guesses for some sign of betrayal. “I’ll try.”

Behind Bucky, Steve squeezes his eyes shut in pain. Natasha begins to land the chopper and everyone focuses on that for the moment.

The plane is one Bucky hasn’t seen before, although it’s clearly one of Stark’s. Bruce Banner meets them on the tarmac with a gurney, and Bucky carries Eight from the helicopter to set her gently down on it. She’s clearly terrified of Banner, but what Bucky hates more than the fear is the way it’s rapidly being replaced by a glassy, flat stare. He knows that look. He might not have been able to see it in his own features, but he’s felt it too many times to count. She’s sure she’s about to be tortured, and she’s helpless to do anything about it, so she’s just going somewhere within herself, disassociating herself from the agony that’s coming. 

Bucky takes her hand and walks beside the gurney as its wheeled at a fast trot into the belly of the plane. “We’re not gonna hurt you,” he says, feeling inadequate and all but invisible to her. “I promise.”

She doesn’t respond. 

The plane’s a cargo jet, the kind that can be loaded with different components to give it different configurations, depending on the need. This one’s been loaded with a compartment that takes up roughly a third of the fuselage, fitted out as a treatment room, with all the equipment necessary for trauma care. It could easily handle more than one patient, and it’s apparent that surgery could be performed in here, if necessary. Bucky sees Eight take that in and retreat further into herself. 

Bruce starts to explain what he’s going to do before he does it, but it’s obvious to both of them that she’s not hearing anything. She’s just waiting – elsewhere – for whatever’s coming to be over. Bucky can’t stand it. 

“Doc,” he says to Bruce as he pulls off his armored vest and shirt in one swift move, “Maybe you could take care of these, first.”

He shows Bruce a six-inch gash in his right triceps that he thinks is from a knife, and a wound like a deep bite taken out of the left side of his waist that was clearly made by a bullet grazing him. Normally, he wouldn’t even mention them, and Bruce looks at him with surprised disapproval for the few seconds it takes for him to understand. 

“I could use something for pain, too.”

“Right,” Bruce says, trying not to react. Bucky has never let Bruce give him pain medication for something so minor. “Have a seat.” He rolls a stool over to Bucky, who sits down on it and holds onto the railings of Eight’s gurney, which has been locked in place on the floor, as they feel the plane take off. 

Eight doesn’t say anything, but she turns her head to watch as Bruce gives Bucky a shot of something and then begins to examine his wounds. “Gonna need a few stitches,” Bruce says. Bucky doesn’t usually bother with stitches, although occasionally there’s a chance he’s going to have to fight again before a wound can heal, and on those occasions, Bruce sometimes insists. This isn’t one of those times, but Bruce understands what Bucky’s doing.

Eight’s eyes miss nothing as Bruce cleans and stitches Bucky’s wounds. Bucky wouldn’t normally be chatty right now, but he makes sure to talk to Bruce the whole time, so that Eight can see there’s nothing bad, or even interesting, happening. She’s still scared. But Bucky can see she’s more present than she had been a few minutes before. 

When it’s over, Bucky moves to put his shirt back on, but Bruce stops him. “Don’t you dare put that filthy, bloody thing back on. Go get a clean shirt.”

“I’m not leaving,” Bucky says with finality.

“Fine. But you’re not wearing that over my nice, clean work.”

Bucky shrugs and turns to Eight. He takes her hand again. “See? Nothin’ to it. And the medicine’s nice. You ready for your turn?”

She’s clearly not, but she doesn’t say anything. Just waits, and watches. Bucky nods to Bruce, who moves to the opposite side of the gurney from Bucky, more slowly than he normally would. He takes his time lowering the head of the gurney.

“Can I give you medicine to stop the pain? I’ll give you exactly what I gave Sergeant Barnes,” Bruce asks, in the soothing voice Bucky’s come to associate with him when he’s in medical doctor mode. 

Eight’s eyes meet Bucky’s and he nods, at which she simply closes her eyes. Bucky takes that for acquiescence and indicates that Bruce should give her the shot. He does, then begins to examine Eight’s stab wound. It’s not really bleeding much anymore, but it’s deep and it’s a sucking chest wound, so he wants to get the knife out and sew up the flesh to allow her lung to reinflate. He’s well aware she’d heal even if he just yanked out the knife, but he’s not about to do that.

“Can you look at me?” Bruce asks gently. 

She opens her eyes. The frown lines are just a little softer now, Bucky’s relieved to see. The pain medicine’s working already.

“This knife has to come out, and then I need to put some stitches in the wound. Like I did for Sergeant Barnes. It’s going to hurt, and there’s no reason you have to feel that. I can put some medicine into your flesh, that makes it so you won’t feel it. Will you let me do that?”

Eight’s frown becomes a scowl. “I don’t care about pain.”

“I know you don’t. I know. But you don’t like it, do you?”

She doesn’t answer, and Bucky could’ve told Bruce she wouldn’t. She’s not going to just hand him that weapon. 

“I won’t give you the numbing medicine if you say no. But I don’t want you to feel pain. That’s why I want to do it.”

Bucky leans over the low siderail of the gurney. He’s still holding Eight’s hand, and he uses his other hand to stroke her cheek with the back of a finger. His lips are close to her ear as he murmurs, “It’s the same medicine he put in me before he sewed me up. You saw that, when he gave me those shots first?”

Again, Eight just closes her eyes, but she turns her face toward Bucky, as though for comfort. He puts his forehead to hers and Bruce appears to read that as acceptance, because he starts to prepare for the procedure. 

“This pinches a little, the pokes as I put the numbing medicine in,” Bruce says in that doctor voice of his. 

One tear escapes Eight’s closed eye as he begins. It’s not pain, Bucky knows. It’s the effort of trying to trust when everything in her tells her not to. He doesn’t even think about it as he brushes a soft, slow kiss across her lips. He hopes it’s half as comforting to her as it is to him that she kisses him back, just a little.

Steve meets him outside the door of the treatment compartment as Bucky makes his way to the front of the plane.

“How is she?”

“Sleeping. Banner’s gonna sit with her.” Bucky answers. “You wanna tell me what the fuck that was back there? Why did you lie to me? How did you know where to find us?”

“I’ll tell you everything. C’mon.” Steve leads Bucky forward through a compartment fitted with seats, and Bucky can see that the door to the cockpit is open. There are all sorts of supplies in storage cabinets at the front of the compartment, and Steve opens one to show Bucky an assortment of tactical clothing in various sizes. Bucky can’t help but notice that Steve would normally make a comment about him being shirtless, but says nothing now. He’s upset about something, Bucky knows, and he figures he’ll learn quick enough what it is.

They take seats and Sam joins them. Things have never been particularly warm between Bucky and Sam, but Bucky was glad to see him in the helicopter, and he tells him so. 

“No worries,” Sam shrugs. “I go where Cap sends me.”

Bucky turns his eyes back to Steve. “So?”

“I didn’t lie to you,” Steve tells him. “Natasha meant what she said. The thing she didn’t tell us was that her answer wasn’t final. She wanted to watch and see what Eight did. We were tracking you with the beacon in your arm, and when we saw that the Hydra goons didn’t lose you, we knew they were tracking you somehow, too.”

Bucky takes a small, sealed plastic bag out of one of the pockets in the leg of his pants, and holds it up with an ugly sneer. There’s a tiny, flat disc in it. “Not gonna be a problem anymore,” he snarls.

Bruce had told him and Eight about the tracking device Hydra had implanted somewhere in Eight’s body, which had enabled them to find her easily in Lucerne. Finding and removing it from her neck had been the one procedure Eight hadn’t hesitated to allow. 

“So I guess it’s maybe a good thing you didn’t let us go directly to the Compound,” Bucky muses.

“Yeah. Bruce and Sam were here just in case we had to act fast, but this is better. This’ll mean they won’t track her to the Compound, we’ll have a little time to prepare, and they won’t see Eight coming if she comes with us to the Bunker.” 

“Wait a minute,” Sam says. “The damn tracker is right there. Whether it’s still inside her or not, it’s still working, isn’t it?”

Bucky grins a little. “Not anymore. Even stoned on morphine, Eight’s pretty savvy about this stuff. She deactivated it. I wanted to toss it out of the plane, but Bruce thinks Tony’ll want to study it.”

Sam persists. “How do we know she deactivated it?” 

The flash of irritation in Bucky’s eyes doesn’t escape either Sam or Steve. “We know.”

“Buck-“

“Dammit, Steve, are you ever gonna give me a little credit here? We know because she says so, but we also know because Bruce confirmed it. OK? _Fuck_.”

“Fine. It’s deactivated,” Steve concedes, holding up his hands. 

“So does all this mean we’re going back to Siberia? We’re going to rescue those soldiers?”

Steve skips a beat. “It means we’re going back to the Compound to discuss it. It means we’re considering it.”

“Government bureaucracy’s got nothin’ on The Avengers,” Bucky mutters disgustedly. “Everything’s a damned committee meeting.”

“We’re considering it,” Steve barks. “Call that a win.”

“What is your fucking problem, Steve? This is exactly the kind of do-gooder shit you live for, and we all know we can’t let this remnant of Hydra start to re-grow. Why are you not all over this?”

“I am _considering_ it.” It’s the coldest look Bucky thinks Steve’s ever given him. And he’s definitely never pulled rank like that before. 

Bucky’s stunned and hurt. He decides to let it go, because he’s tired and he’s pissed and he knows he’s not going to further his cause by getting into it with Steve. Besides, he doesn’t want to hear that tone in Steve’s voice again. It cuts him to the heart.

“Yeah. Yeah, all right. I’m beat. I’m gonna get some sleep.”

“There’s a rear compartment. It’s got a shower and some sleeping rooms,” Sam offers, anxious to ease the tension.

“I’ll show you,” Steve says without inflection, getting up. Bucky follows him through the compartment to the door they’d entered, but this time Steve leads him around the medical compartment, close to the exposed struts supporting the airframe. At the rear of the plane, they enter a third compartment where there’s a cramped, central hallway with doors leading off of it, and a door at the back flanked by storage cabinets like the ones in the seating compartment. Steve opens the rear door and Bucky sees there’s a shower room that covers the rear of the compartment, from wall to wall.

Bucky steps past Steve into the shower room and is surprised to see that Steve follows him, closing and locking the door behind him. 

“Steve-“

“Shut up,” Steve says, and pulls Bucky roughly to him, covering his mouth with his. 

It’s unexpected enough, and the morphine Bruce gave Bucky is still slowing his thoughts enough, that he kisses Steve back for a few minutes and lets him take his shirt off. He’s starting to lift Steve’s shirt before his mind catches up.

“Wait… Steve…”

“Just, for once, shut up and fuck me. I don’t wanna talk about it.” Steve rips off his own shirt and presses Bucky against the back wall of the compartment, pulling at Bucky’s belt.

Steve feels good against him. Really good. So fucking good, in fact, that Bucky slides his hands up Steve’s chest while he lets Steve unfasten his belt and unzip his pants.

“Get your fucking boots off,” Steve growls into Bucky’s mouth, then lets him go long enough to undo his own boots while Bucky does the same. 

Bucky’s already panting, already feeling heat and need rushing to his dick, and his narcotic-fuzzed brain is rapidly surrendering control to his body. He kicks his boots into a corner and quickly tosses his pants after them, reaching for Steve as soon as Steve’s clothes land on top of his. 

Their kisses are fierce and torrid. It’s been way, way too long. It’s hard to know what to do with his hands because Bucky wants to cling to Steve, and grab his ass to grind against him, and get his hands around Steve’s cock, all at the same time. Steve seems to need to invade his mouth with his tongue, because he’s got a hand wrapped up in Bucky’s hair holding his head still as he does exactly that. He’s grinding hard against Bucky as he presses him against the wall. Bucky goes with it, using his own mouth to give as good as he gets.

“I love you, Bucky. I need you. You gotta stop this bullshit, because you’re _mine_. You know you are.”

Bucky grunts with frustration. Now is _so_ not the time. “Thought you said you didn’t wanna talk about it.”

“I don’t,” Steve says, and drops to his knees. 

Bucky spreads his arms and braces himself against the wall as Steve spreads his legs and almost desperately takes Bucky’s cock into his mouth. He grasps Bucky’s ass with both hands. “Fucking _mine_ ,” he gasps around Bucky’s head before sliding his mouth down, working until he’s got Bucky’s whole length down his throat.

Steve used to be a ninety-pound pipsqueak. His dick was proportionally sized, so he got very good at other things to make up for what he lacked. And Steve, God knows, has always been one stubborn, determined little shit. As a result, no one gives head like Steve Rogers. No one. Bucky’s missed Steve’s mouth and the way he knows exactly when to start fingering Bucky’s hole, and he’s completely lost in sensation already. He knows Steve’s going to make this last as long as he can, and bring him to the brink as many times as it takes until Bucky begs him to finish him. 

Either Steve’s been practicing his tonguing technique, or Bucky’s been out of action for a while, or both, because it doesn’t take long for Bucky to be gasping and hissing Steve’s name. Far from taking pity on him, Steve stops messing around, looks up at Bucky as he takes a moment to suck on his own finger, coating it in spit, and returns to sucking him as he slowly slides his finger inside. When it’s fully buried, Steve begins to move in and out. Bucky cries out. He’s glad for the plane’s engine noise, because he’s making all kinds of obscene noises. 

“Fuck, Stevie, oh fuck… I’m dyin’ here…” 

Steve sucks harder and starts teasing Bucky with another finger. He takes Bucky’s cock out of his mouth and wraps a hand around it, while he leans down and mouths Bucky’s balls for a while, inserting the second finger at some point. Bucky doesn’t know exactly when, because by now Bucky doesn’t know his own name. He’s a quivering, moaning mass of hormones and he can feel how slick Steve’s hand is getting with the pre-come leaking profusely from the head of his cock. 

He gets close to coming, and Steve can tell, because Steve knows his body as well as he knows his own, and Steve’s a fucking world-class tease. He keeps his hand on Bucky’s cock, but he stops stroking as he gently removes his fingers from inside Bucky and turns him around so he’s facing the wall. Bucky knows what’s coming, and he’s tilting his ass out a bit toward Steve when he feels the hot tip of Steve’s tongue start to flick around his hole. Bucky doesn’t even hear his own shout of pleasure, and he’s deaf to his own whimpering. 

“Stevie, _fuck_! You’re gonna kill me! Fuck me already!”

Steve ignores his pleas, which Bucky knew he would, and starts thrusting his tongue as far into Bucky as he can while he starts moving the hand that’s holding Bucky’s cock. Bucky’s hips are far out of his control as he fucks Steve’s hand desperately. But Steve’s too smart to grip him tightly enough to make him come. He’s gotta suffer some more. So Steve rims him for so long Bucky thinks he’s going to lose his mind. Finally, Steve begins to finger fuck him again, and this time, he keeps going until, at last, Bucky’s begging.

“C’mon, Steve! I need you-“

“You know what you gotta say,” Steve tells him.

“I love you! OK? I fucking love you, you miserable tease. I love you, now let me come!”

Steve, still on his knees, moves back enough to guide Bucky by the hips until he’s kneeling next to him, then puts a hand on Bucky’s back and presses so that Bucky obediently goes onto all fours. Steve’s instantly behind him, using spit and Bucky’s own pre-come as lube. Bucky’s too far gone to care. He just moans, muttering, “C’mon” and “Now, _please_ , Stevie,” until he feels Steve push into him. 

It’s way too slow for Bucky, but Steve’s firmly in control, and Bucky knows he’s just gotta take it until Steve’s satisfied that Bucky’s ready. Even though Bucky tries to back into him, to impale himself on Steve’s cock, Steve doesn’t let him. It’s part protectiveness, part teasing, and all Steve and Bucky. Finally, at long last, Steve starts to thrust and leans in to Bucky so he can grip Bucky’s cock again. 

“You’re _mine_ ,” Steve pants. “I love you so fucking much, Buck. You’ll never know how much. And you’re _mine_.” 

With that, Bucky lets out a choked scream and comes, squeezing his eyes closed and gasping for breath while he fucks Steve’s hand and, at the same time, fucks his cock. Steve’s right behind him, and he practically chants Bucky’s name, interspersed with I love you’s, until they both collapse to the floor. 

It’s a long time before their wobbly legs will support them enough to stand up and wash each other under the hot shower. 

Steve dresses and leaves the back compartment at some point, while Bucky just slides on some boxer briefs he finds in the supply cabinets and goes into one of the little sleeping rooms. There’s barely enough room inside for a cot, but he’s half conscious as he throws himself onto the bed and is out before he takes his next breath.

Bucky wakes up when he feels the plane start to descend. He groans. His first thought is that he should never have let Steve… He stops himself. He didn’t _let_ Steve do anything. He was on board the minute he heard Steve lock the shower door behind them, and he knows it. What he shouldn’t have done is let _himself_ give in to what he wanted as much as Steve did, if not more. Yeah, he loves Steve. He always has, and he always will. And since he does, it’s _his_ fault he allowed himself to fuck Steve and give him false hope. Bucky’s no good, and Steve’s all good. That’s just the way it is. If he doesn’t do what’s right, Steve’s never gonna be able to move on, and that’s what has to happen. 

Bucky gets up and finds clothes to put on. He hopes Eight hasn’t woken up when he wasn’t there. He’d said he would be there with her the whole time. Another reason to feel guilty about letting himself give in to his feelings for Steve. Now he’s let both Steve _and_ Eight down. Again.

He lets himself into the middle, medical compartment and finds, to his shame, that Eight is fully awake. He starts to feel a little better, though, as he realizes that she’s having a serious, but friendly, conversation with Bruce. He also realizes that, because of Bruce’s past, the conversation is much more complex on one side that it is on the other.

“It’s actually illegal.” Bruce is saying. “Very illegal. Someone gets caught doing that kind of experimentation on people, they put them _under_ the prison.”

“ _Under_ it? Are there catacombs or something?”

Bucky and Bruce sprout identical fond grins at that. Hearing him come in, Bruce and Eight turn to look at Bucky.

“Good morning, Sergeant,” Eight smiles.

“Good morning. How you feelin’?”

Eight moves her left arm around, feeling the movement of her chest muscles. “Good. I think I’m almost healed. But Dr. Banner won’t let me get up until we land. I don’t think he believes me about the serum.”

“He does,” Bucky smiles at Bruce as he comes in and re-takes the stool he’d sat on to be stitched up. “He’s just a doctor. He makes you take better care of yourself than you really think you need to.”

“Did you know that doctors, real doctors, aren’t allowed to experiment on people?”

“Yeah.” He shares a meaningful look with Bruce. “Those guys at Hydra, they’re not doctors. They’re…” Bucky searches for words.

“Fucking bastards?” Eight suggests, and Bruce has to stifle a laugh. Bucky’s getting used to this, but even he fights to control his expression.

“You have a gift for languages, Eight.”

“Marya.”

“Huh?”

Eight smiles as though she’s discovered the cure for the common cold. “My name. It was Marya. The morphine made me remember. Dr. Banner tried to explain how that could happen, but I don’t understand it.”

Bucky sees that Bruce is feeling pretty darn good about himself right then. He doesn’t know why, but it irritates him. He tries to hide it as he says, “Marya. That’s beautiful. And it suits you.”

“I like it, too. I didn’t remember anything else, but Dr. Banner says we can try later. He says you remember things spontaneously sometimes, so maybe I will, too.”

Natasha’s voice comes over the intercom system, telling them to prepare for landing. 

As Bucky and Bruce brace their feet and hold on to the railings of the gurney, Marya asks, “How are your stitches?”

“Ready to come out, I think,” Bucky answers. 

She has a thought, and judging from her expression, it’s not a good one. “I’m sorry, Sergeant. You got hurt because of me. I didn’t know I had a tracking device in me. If I had, I would have cut it out before we left the bunker. I guess it must not have been very sensitive, since they didn’t find me in the bunker, but they found us in Switzerland, and it’s my fault. I’m sorry I didn’t know.”

Bucky has a momentary vision of Eight – Marya – cutting the tracking device out of her own flesh, and knows she would have done it, or asked one of the other captive soldiers to do it. It’s what he would have done. “It wasn’t your fault. Not even a little bit. And I’m hardly hurt. A couple scratches.”

“Can I ask you a question?”

“Sure.”

Marya looks down. “I don’t know the rules, and I know you feel bad about what you used to have to do. But it was the first time I got to fight bad people, to protect good ones.”

“Uh-huh. Yeah?”

“So… is it bad that I thought it was fun? Until the stabbing part?”

Bucky and Bruce look at each other. The answer to that question is very, very complicated. But Bucky just says, “I don’t think so. Fighting can be kind of fun, sometimes. When you’re doing it for the right reasons.” 

“I’m never gonna like getting stabbed, though.”

“Nobody does,” Bucky agrees.


	6. The Compound

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bucky Barnes and the rest of the team who's been in Switzerland make it back to the Compound. Marya, the former Hydra captive who's come to ask for The Avengers' help to rescue the others, is healing from her stab wound. She bonds, a bit, with Tony Stark over geekery. But Bucky's not doing too well. His nightmares are back with a ferocity and things between him and Steve are decidedly not good. Things between Bucky and Marya, however, are very good.

Bucky has a hard time adjusting to calling Marya by her name, but he’s determined never to call her “Eight” again. That was never a name. It was a dehumanizing designation and he’s not going to use it even one more time, if he can stop himself. Everyone else seems to make the transition easily, and Bucky thinks that’s a combination of not having known her as long as he has, and not wanting to call her “Eight” any more than he does.

Steve’s being careful. He’s entirely confident now that Marya is who she says she is, because Natasha is satisfied of that, and that’s good enough for Steve. But in the Compound, he’s not letting Marya have any weapons, or access to anything sensitive, until further notice. She’s unhappy about being unarmed, given her discomfort with being in a new and potentially extremely hostile environment, but she’s also been a soldier from childhood, with obedience literally beaten into her. 

Bucky’s trying to keep Steve at arm’s length after what’s happened between them, which is insanely difficult for about a million reasons. No one else probably notices anything out of the ordinary – they’ve been struggling for a long time – but Steve’s longing stares have a renewed intensity matched only by Bucky’s determination to return to the easy brotherhood they once had, before they admitted their love for one another.

Bruce wants Marya to be wheeled into the Compound on the gurney but, when she complains, she gets support from everyone else on the plane.

“Quit bein’ such a mother hen,” Sam tells Bruce affectionately. 

“Even mother hens let their chicks walk by themselves,” Natasha adds, then says in an aside to Marya in Russian, “He’s a man. He thinks we’d need as much time to recover as these boys would.”

“Isn’t he a doctor?” Marya asks her. “Doesn’t he know how much tougher women are than men?”

“Some of us speak Russian, you know,” Bucky mutters, trying to seem offended. 

It’s the last light moment for a while, because Marya’s back to being afraid. Bucky expected that, and plans to stick close to her until she feels comfortable. He knows how terrifying new places and situations are for people like them when they’re unprepared, and he remembers his own introduction to the Compound. He finds himself charmed and gratified at the way Marya glues herself to his side, walking and standing just behind him but so close that he can feel her. 

As soon as they arrive, everyone scatters to their own areas of the Compound. Steve tells Bucky to put Marya in rooms near his, which Bucky knows will sound to Marya as though he’s trying to make her comfortable by letting her be near Bucky. But Bucky knows better. The truth is, Steve’s own rooms are adjacent to Bucky’s, which means Steve will be in a good position to keep a close eye on Marya himself. 

Bucky points out features of the place on their way: the kitchen, the common areas, the training building. Marya’s on extreme alert, but she unconsciously shows her trust in him by holding his hand, which he finds he really likes, in a protective if slightly egotistical way. When they reach the area where his and Steve’s rooms are, Bucky shows her which doors are theirs, before opening the door to the rooms where she’ll be staying. She’s interested in everything, and her expression says she likes the rooms, but the first thing she says is, “I’ll be so far away from you. From everyone.” 

“I know, and I know you won’t like that at first. But maybe you’ll find that you like privacy.”

“Maybe. I’ll try.”

There’s a commotion in the hallway outside. He turns toward the sound and hears, “Barnes, I’m gonna kill you for-“

There’s a flash of movement past him and a thud in the hallway. Bucky sighs, knowing what he’s going to find as he takes the several steps to the door and looks out.

Marya’s straddling Tony Stark, her forearm hard across his throat and a knife held in her hand with the point about two inches from his left eye. Tony, being Tony, has an eyebrow raised and an otherwise bland expression on his face. 

“Nice to meet you, Marya.”

“Let him up,” Bucky says sharply.

She keeps her eyes bored into Tony’s, and doesn’t move except to tilt her head slightly toward Bucky. “Why?”

“Because that’s Tony Stark.”

She still doesn’t move. “He said he was going to kill you.”

“He says that a lot.”

“He’s got weapons on him. They’re… weird, but they’re weapons.”

Bucky can see that Tony’s good humor is quickly evaporating, which he kind of can’t blame him for, knifepoint at his eye and all. He doesn’t want things to get any worse. If she’s going to work with The Avengers, she’s going to need to be on good terms with Tony.

“ _Soblyuday, Soldat_ ,” he growls. He feels a little guilty about using such a loaded command, but he’s relieved to see it has the intended effect. 

She immediately flicks the knife back into the sheath in her sleeve where it had been hidden and stands, gracefully using her momentum to pull Tony up with her. But she’s not happy about it. She keeps Tony fully in her sight as she turns a glare on Bucky.

“You’re not supposed to have a knife,” Bucky says to her with disapproval.

“ _THAT’S_ the problem you see here?” Tony shrieks.

“Relax, Tony. She’s just nervous.”

“Then let her fidget or talk nonsense, like the rest of us.”

There’s a tense silence as Tony glowers at Bucky and Bucky tries to think of something to say to defuse the situation. To both of their surprise, Marya gets there first. 

“I owe you an apology, Mr. Stark,” she says, in an oddly stilted way as if she’s reciting lines. “I overreacted, and I’m sorry. I hope I haven’t hurt you. It won’t happen again.”

Tony looks from Marya to Bucky. 

“In her defense,” Bucky tells him, “She only tackles people when she first meets them. Once she knows you, she’s very polite.”

“I often regret not killing you,” Tony says to Bucky in an offhand tone that’s almost fond. He then turns to Marya.

“Apology accepted. I like a girl with spirit. I am going to have to ask you for that knife, though.”

She quickly, though reluctantly, takes it out and hands it to him, handle first.

“A few house rules,” Tony says, in his usual rapid-fire style. “First, no attacking the host. That’d be me. Defend me, by all means. And you’re welcome to attack this one at will.” He motions toward Bucky. “Second, if Cap gives you an order, you follow it. He says no weapons, that means no weapons. You with me so far?”

“Yes, Sir.”

Tony looks toward Bucky. “You hear that? ’Yes, Sir’. I already like her better than you.”

Bucky smirks.

“Third, if anyone catches you anywhere you’re not supposed to be, they have orders to kill you on sight. That might strike you as a little rude, and I suppose it is, but no one’s ever accused me of being socially acceptable, and you did just knock me down and stick a knife in my face, so I think we’re even. Are we clear?”

“Yes, Sir.”

“Oh, I could _so_ get used to that,” Tony gushes to Bucky, then turns around and begins to walk away. “One more thing,” he says, holding up a finger and turning back toward Marya. “I understand you have a couple of Hydra’s toys, and that you understand how they work.”

“Yes.”

“We’ll talk.” With that, Tony spins back around and strides rapidly back down the hallway.

The next week is hard on both Bucky and Marya. One of the reasons is their rapidly escalating impatience. Nothing seems to be happening. Marya thinks constantly of her ‘brothers and sisters’ in the bunker, and can’t stand the idea that they might think she isn’t coming back for them. Bucky, too, is thinking of them. He doesn’t know them, so he can’t care about them personally the way that she does. But he knows enough. He knows what he endured. He knows that he cannot and will not leave them there. 

Bucky’s also having nightmares like he hasn’t had since he first escaped Hydra and went to ground in Bucharest. He’s hollow-eyed and haggard, and he dreads the nights. Sometimes he wakes up soaked in cold sweat, tangled in his sheets. Those are the good nights. It’s the nights he wakes up screaming, stabbing at nothing and terrified almost to madness, that have him wondering whether it’s all worth it. 

Sam tells him it’s a good thing. Miserable, agonizing, but a sign of progress. A sign that meeting Marya has helped him to be able to approach a well of memories and emotions he wasn’t ready to even acknowledge before. Bucky hopes so, because he feels like he’s drowning.

One night, he dreams he’s back in captivity, looking at a circle of flunkies aiming weapons at him while shithead Pierce spews megalomaniacal vitriole disguised as patriotism at him. He sees Rumlow, drooling and sprouting wood at the idea of what’s about to happen to him. Bucky’s aching for Pierce to shut up, but at the same time desperate for him to continue so that what’s coming next won’t happen. But it does. He feels the clamps, then the unbearable torment, like every nerve in his brain is being torn out separately and at the same time, and he wakes up, screaming and clawing at his head, bolt upright in his bed dripping with sweat. 

He sees his shadowy room, and knows he’s safe in the Compound. He knows he’s going to blow that fucking bunker to kingdom come if it’s the last thing he does. He’s with The Avengers now. He’s not alone. He’s Bucky again. He’s not The Asset or whatever the fuck he was back then. But he also knows that he was that person. He did those things. That was real, and it happened, and it’s never going away. For the first time in a very long time, Bucky covers his face with his hands and cries. 

That’s when he hears the soft rustle of fabric, and a whisper from the corner of his bedroom. 

“Sergeant?”

He startles, but recognizes her voice. “Marya? What the hell?”

She steps away from the wall where she’s been standing and crosses silently to sit next to him. 

“I’m here. Can I touch you?”

“Why are you… I…” 

His surprise quickly drains away and, as it does, his despair returns. He hiccups and she reaches out, tentatively, to touch his metal shoulder. Bucky realizes that he wants nothing more than to let go. To give way, just this once, to the wretched tide of pain and grief and guilt and shame that will engulf him if he lets it. He knows how strong Marya is. As she turns to put a knee on the bed and shift herself so she’s kneeling next to him, he knows that the arms she wraps him with are sculpted with well-defined, hard muscle, and that she’s pulling him to her because she can take his weight, and the weight of his anguish. So he leans into her and lets his arms fall weakly to her waist. He lets her pull his head to her shoulder and starts to sob as she strokes his hair.

Once he starts, he can’t stop. He’s afraid sometimes that he’ll never catch his breath as he’s overtaken with wracking, shuddering cries that tear themselves from his throat. But he doesn’t fight it. He lets it have him. He leans on her with his whole weight, letting her keep him upright. He soaks the soft cotton nightshirt she’s wearing with his tears and probably snot and spit, too. He doesn’t care and she doesn’t even appear to notice. She just holds him, rocking him sometimes, stroking his back and arms and hair, kissing his head, his forehead, his cheeks and lips, murmuring soft endearments and comforting words in Russian and English.

It’s got to be an hour before his wails and sobs even begin to slow down into weeping. And he weeps for at least another hour. She’s crying, too, sometimes as hard as he is, but the whole time, she’s supporting and sustaining him, keeping him safe as he falls entirely apart and stays that way for hours. 

Finally, Bucky’s completely worn out, drained of every bit of energy and strength he had. All of the filth and suffering inside him has, for the moment, been exorcised. She lays him down, covering him with the sheet and cradling his head to her chest. She wraps both arms and legs around him and he falls asleep clinging to her.

In the morning, he wakes up alone. He knows it happened, because his eyes are swollen and sore, and he can catch the faintest scent of her hair on his pillows. He doesn’t know quite how to feel about that. He’s grateful to her for allowing him the privacy to figure it out, before he sees her. 

But it doesn’t take long. In the shower, he thinks through his dream, and the fact that she was there in his room, and her unflinching acceptance in the presence of his staggering, overpowering grief and rage, and he knows exactly how he feels. He feels grateful. He feels honored. He feels loved. And he feels love.

He’s disappointed when he finds that she’s not in her rooms. He was hoping to have the opportunity to see her alone, to talk about what happened. He needs to try to thank her, although he knows he’ll never be able to find the words to tell her how grateful he is. 

He thinks about Steve, and Bucky’s already-raw emotions register instantly a sense of guilt that he’s shared with Marya, a woman he barely knows, all the things that he hasn’t been able to let his lifelong best friend see. The things that Steve’s been begging Bucky to trust him with. Bucky knows why it happened that way: Marya is who Bucky is. If Steve lives for another hundred years, he still won’t be able to understand what’s been inside of Bucky the way that she can. But Bucky also knows that he will have to take that knowledge to his grave. Steve would be destroyed to know that Marya could give Bucky something he couldn’t, and Bucky’s not going to do that to him.

In the large kitchen, everyone’s just finishing breakfast, sipping coffee and enjoying some camaraderie before going on to whatever they have planned for their days. Bucky sees Marya, sitting at a table with Clint and listening to him explain something about his bow. He grins, because he knows Clint must be ecstatic. No one else wants to hear him go on and on about what it can do, but Marya seems enthralled. She looks up at Bucky, and they share a small smile and a nod.

Steve’s sitting with Tony, just watching Bucky like a lion watching a particularly tasty-looking gazelle, when Tony sees him.

“Good morning. Catching up on our beauty sleep, are we?”

Bucky grunts a greeting and pours a cup of coffee.

“Bad news, Barnes,” Natasha says from the other side of the table where she’s reading some sort of printouts. “Not only didn’t it work, but we ate all the bacon.”

“Assholes,” Bucky mutters, and begins to take inventory of his breakfast options. It’s not long before Marya crosses the room to do something at the oven behind Bucky, then steps up beside him. She holds out a plate heaped with food, including a respectable amount of bacon. Bucky takes the plate automatically, and feels that it’s warm. He smiles wide, not only because of the gesture, but also because she looks adorably pleased with herself.

Clint’s offended shout cuts through the moment. “Hey! You said there was no more bacon!”

“I’m sorry,” Marya says apologetically to him as she returns to join him at the table. “I guess I don’t know the rules about bacon.”

When Clint looks away, Marya gives Bucky a secret wink. He’s delighted. 

“Unpredictable and overly violent, but loyal,” Tony mutters to Natasha. “Shit. Now there are two of them.” Natasha smirks at her papers.

Steve crushes the coffee cup he’s holding in his hand, and there’s minor commotion as people scramble out of the way of the spill and try to outdo each other making fun of him.

After a while, people start to excuse themselves to start their days. Clint’s gone to the training building, leaving Bucky and Marya sitting together, a bit apart from the others. On the way out of the room, Tony says to Marya, “Come to my lab later.”

She goes instantly from relaxed and cheerful to rigid and bristling with fear.

“Gizmos,” Bucky says quickly, putting a hand on her arm. “Remember? It’s not that kind of lab. He makes electronic gadgets.” 

Bucky looks daggers at Tony, who shrugs and says nonchalantly, “Yeah. I only experiment on myself. We’re just gonna take a look at that Hydra technology.” He looks at Bucky then. “You come, too, to make sure she doesn’t do anything.”

“Jeez, Tony, she’s sitting right here.”

“You know I have no manners, right, Marya?”

“Yes, Sir,” she says in a small voice, not looking at him.

It takes a while for Marya’s terror to bleed off, and Bucky’s aggravation with Tony lasts even longer. 

Steve leaves the kitchen then, not having said a word to Bucky, and he and Marya find themselves alone in the room.

“Thank you,” Bucky says, hoping she can hear the weight he’s putting into the words.

“You’re welcome. I don’t know whether you’re talking about last night or this morning, but the answer’s the same.”

“I was talking about last night, but I gotta say, saving me some breakfast is pretty great, too.”

He likes her pleased smile. 

“I don’t really want to make a joke about it, though. You bein’ there, letting me… vent, I guess, that was…” He’s been practicing how to say it, and still he gets tangled up in the words. “It helped me so much, and I just want you to know how much it means to me.”

“I’m glad if I could help. I’ve hated seeing you in such pain.”

“It’s been that obvious, huh?”

It’s been a while since Bucky’s seen Marya’s perplexed look, but she’s wearing it now. “Yes. You’ve been thrashing, and shouting, and…”

“What are you… When?”

“Every night since we’ve been here.”

“Are you telling me you’ve been in my room every night?”

“Yes.”

“Don’t you sleep?”

“Not very well. It’s too quiet, and-“

Bucky grins a little. “You’re cold.”

“Yes. The first night, I thought I heard you, and it didn’t sound good, so I went to make sure you were all right. When I saw that you were having bad dreams, I worried about you. So I started coming in, so I’d be there if you needed me.”

“Wasn’t my door locked?”

“Yes.”

Bucky would laugh at that if he wasn’t such a wreck. “So you just watched me sleep?”

“No. I slept, too.”

“Standing in the corner of my room?”

“Sitting.”

Bucky realizes he isn’t really very surprised by this. He takes Marya’s hand and kisses it. “That isn’t necessary. But thank you.”

“It feels necessary,” she says. “I love you.”

It’s a straight, simple declaration, just like the time she told him in Lucerne that she wanted to have sex with him, and Bucky’s thunderstruck. Not knowing what to say or do, he squeezes her hand and kisses it again, longer this time. 

“We should go to Mr. Stark’s lab,” Marya says softly.

The seeming chaos in Tony’s lab has always been incomprehensible and vaguely threatening to Bucky. Marya, on the other hand, is wearing an impossibly wide grin, and takes it all in with hungry, enchanted eyes. Tony’s asked them to give him a second, he’s having trouble with something and he thinks he’s just about there. Apparently, he’s not, because he keeps swearing. 

After five minutes of slowly circling the huge room, eyes wide with wonder and interest, Marya steps behind Tony to see what he’s looking at through the powerful magnifier. It’s some kind of microcircuitry in a machine whose purpose Bucky can’t even guess at, but she’s intrigued.

Tony swears again and Bucky sees a tiny puff of smoke stream lazily out from where Tony’s working. 

“That connector’s backward,” Marya murmurs.

Tony turns on her angrily. “What?”

She steps quickly away, reflexively taking a defensive stance and looking afraid. She doesn’t repeat what she’s said, just watches every movement Tony makes as he scowls at her and shoos her away. She hastens to Bucky’s side, standing just behind him and leaning just the tiniest bit into him. 

Tony works for a while longer while they just watchfully wait for him to acknowledge them again. He pulls the tools he’s using away from the machine and it starts to do… something. He swears again and gives Marya another dirty look. 

“Connector was backward.” 

Bucky’s relieved to note that Marya wisely doesn’t respond. 

The conversation that follows is wide-ranging and mostly incomprehensible to Bucky, but he’s always liked futuristic gadgets and gizmos, and it’s entertaining. The part that really catches his attention, though, is when they begin to talk about Bucky’s arm, and the fact that it was Marya who disabled it on the plane when they’d first abducted him.

“How did you know how to do that?” Tony asks, half fascinated and half seriously annoyed. 

“I didn’t. But I looked, and it seemed like if I disconnected those two components, it wouldn’t work anymore.”

“Hmm. And how’d you fix it?”

“I didn’t fix it. I made a patch that would stick on the outside to draw the components back together again. It was the best I could do, and I guess I forgot to go back and repair it.”

“Well, let’s do that now, shall we?”

It doesn’t escape Bucky’s attention that Marya was terrified to come into this lab for fear she’d be experimented on, and he’d reassured her that wouldn’t happen. Now he’s the one sitting obediently while they mess around with his arm and talk in one of the few languages Bucky doesn’t speak. It’s a long morning.

That night, Bucky again finds himself dreading the prospect of going to sleep. He finds things to do, including having a fairly heated discussion with Steve about why they’re still not planning a raid on the Hydra bunker in Siberia. Eventually, though, he’s the only one still up, and he decides it’s time to quit procrastinating.

In the hallway outside his door, he makes a decision. He goes to Marya’s door, instead, and knocks. She’s wearing soft, grey leggings and a tank top made of the same material, which do nothing but accentuate the shape of her strong, graceful body and the obvious fact that she’s not wearing a bra.

“Are you all right, Sergeant?” She waves him in, but he stays where he is.

“I just wanted to tell you to stay here. Get some real sleep. I appreciate everything you’ve been doing, but you don’t need to. I’ll feel better knowing you’re here, comfortable, and not just hanging out in the corner waiting for me to have a nightmare.”

Marya looks hurt and a little confused. “I’m sorry if I did the wrong thing. You said people like privacy, so I shouldn’t have-“

“No. It’s not that at all. I understand what you did, and I appreciate it. More than you know. The thing is, I want _you_ to be comfortable. You can’t just be watching over me all the time.”

“I understand.”

The look on her face is tearing at Bucky. “No, you don’t. I’m not mad…” He can’t _not_ take her into his arms when she’s looking down with her shoulders slumped like that. 

She hugs him back, but he can feel her uncertainty. After what she did for him, after _all_ she’s done for him, and what they’ve been through together… “Marya, I’m sorry. I’m a chump when it comes to words. I’m trying to be nice to you. Maybe we could…”

Suddenly, the way forward is clear and easy. “What if you sleep with me? That way you can be comfortable, and you’ll probably sleep better than in here, anyway. And if – _when_ – I have a nightmare, you’ll be there.”

She looks a little happier, but still uncertain. “But Natasha said it’s too intimate.”

Bucky kisses her. Intimately. “She was right. I know you don’t really associate sex and sleeping with eachother, but… we could do both. If you want.”

_That_ gets the look Bucky was aiming for. He takes his arms from around her but keeps hold of her hand as he leads her out of her door and to his. 

When they’re lying together on his bed, mouths tasting and exploring, this seems to Bucky like the best idea he’s had in a long time. The almost-shy, vaguely hesitant way she’s touching him, though, raises a question that he’s been wanting to ask since he first noticed how beautiful she is. 

Bucky lifts up from Marya’s lips and slides a hand down to cover her breast as he looks into her eyes. “Do you… know what comes next?”

She arches up when he begins to tease her nipple with the tips of his fingers, but doesn’t break eye contact. “I think so.”

Bucky tilts his head in inquiry.

“We were children. No one told us anything. But then we got older and we… figured things out. I don’t know whether we guessed right, though.”

Bucky chuckles at that. “I’d bet a lot of money that you got it right. It’s pretty instinctive.”

“Show me,” she breathes. “I’ll tell you if we got it right.”

Bucky smiles and goes back to kissing her, enjoying the way she seems to respond to his tongue, and then try to repeat what he does. It’s bliss to finally get his hands on her bare breasts, and he yanks her tank top over her head at the first opportunity. The moan she makes at that goes straight to his cock, which she’s fondling gently. Too gently. He takes her hand and presses it into him, thrusting against it. He feels her smile.

She makes a tiny, frustrated noise when he pulls out of her reach to scoot down further in the bed, but she seems to feel better about things when he takes one of her breasts into his mouth. Bucky’s a sucker for sounds of pleasure, and Marya doesn’t hold back. He’s very surprised that, rather than find it funny when she calls him “Sergeant” as she’s exclaiming at how much she likes what he’s doing, he finds it ridiculously erotic. Just another of the endless variety of ways he’s fucked up, Bucky guesses. This one doesn’t bother him too much.

She cooperates enthusiastically as he pulls her leggings and panties from her, and gasps – actually _gasps_ – when he touches her. “You all right?” He asks around a mouthful of her nipple.

“Yes, that’s just… feels so good…” 

Bucky gets a little worried when he slides a finger inside her and she stops breathing. He lifts his head. “Marya?”

“Yes?”

“Everything OK?”

“Oh, yes!” She’s breathing now. Panting actually.

“You just… I thought you were holding your breath there for a second.”

“I was concentrating.”

Bucky laughs. He _really_ likes that answer. 

“But…”

He doesn’t like the “but”. 

“What’s wrong?”

“You have all your clothes on. I want to take them off.”

_Whew_. Bucky crawls back up so they’re lying face to face again. “Be my guest.”

With a happy sigh, Marya takes hold of Bucky’s layered shirts and pulls. When the shirts are lying on the floor, she spends a long moment just breathing hard and marveling at his chest. “You are the most beautiful man I’ve ever seen,” she whispers, touching him in reverent strokes with the tips of her fingers, as though not sure she’s allowed to. It’s mesmerizing. Bucky just lets her admire him, watching her face and doing his own appreciative gazing at _her_ chest. 

Eventually, one of her awed caresses ends at the button of his jeans. She looks at his face. “Can I…?”

“Yes. I want you to.”

Once she gets his jeans off, Marya spends another mini-eternity admiring Bucky’s lower half. He has to grit his teeth to maintain control as she touches his cock like it’s a religious artifact. In the part of his mind that’s still thinking, Bucky realizes how conceited it is that he’s getting off so much on her naked appreciation of his body, and knows that Steve would be howling with sardonic mirth. 

_Nope_ , Bucky thinks, shutting that down in a hurry. _Not gonna think of Steve right now_.

Bucky surrenders himself to Marya, letting her touch him everywhere and plant open-mouthed kisses wherever she wants, which is pretty much everywhere, too. He’s too aroused to endure the way she starts to use her tongue on his dick, though. When he comes, he wants it to be inside of her. 

“Marya, come here…” He groans.

“Am I doing that wrong?”

“Fuck, no. You’re doing it too right. I want you. I want my cock in you.”

Apparently, Marya’s very on board with that plan, and she moves with him when he turns them over so that he’s lying on top of her. “I want to make you come first, though.”

“’Come?’ Is that when that… explosion happens?”

“That’s what it is, all right.” Bucky rubs his cock against her, feeling her lips slide to accommodate him, and she uses her feet against the mattress to rock her pelvis against him. She reaches down to take his cock in her hand, using the head to rub exactly where she needs it, and it’s mere moments before she’s coming with a spectacular series of shudders and inarticulate cries. One might’ve been “Sergeant,” and Bucky kind of hopes it was.

He plans to wait, rubbing against her until she’s completely finished, but she moves her hips until the head of his cock is against her entrance, then wraps her legs around him. He doesn’t need any encouragement. He thrusts into her, both of them gasping with the sensation, and immediately begins to fuck her with a determined rhythm. When he feels her start to buck against him with her second orgasm, he feels the rush of pleasure roar through him and they’re both shouting as they come.

They both sleep soundly through the rest of the night, once they’ve agreed that Marya and the rest of the Hydra captives did, indeed, get it right.


	7. The Eve of Battle

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Scott Lang's been in Siberia, checking out the story Bucky Barnes and a woman named Marya have told them about a new incarnation of Hydra. He's confirmed it all, and the team starts planning a mission. Meanwhile, Bucky is feeling better than he's felt in a long time; he's about to get to destroy Hydra for good, and he's falling in love. He only wishes he could repair his friendship with Steve. But Steve's in hell, trying to get over Bucky and shouldering way too much, like always. He snaps. And maybe that's not such a bad thing.

The next morning, Bucky finally learns what the team’s been waiting for. When he and Marya walk into the communal kitchen for breakfast, Scott Lang is slouched in a chair, looking for all the world like a homeless crack addict on a particularly bad hair day. No one is sitting near him or talking to him, because he’s snoring loudly and wetly. 

“Don’t mind him,” Tony says breezily. “He had a long flight back from Siberia.“

Marya is instantly on him, and Bucky finds it interesting that, although Tony goes into a protective stance right away, it’s all about preserving the safety of his coffee. The look he gives Marya is offended and indignant, and it’s all Bucky can do not to laugh.

"Siberia? Did he go to the bunker? Did he see my brothers and sisters? Are they all right?”

Tony looks over at Bucky with a raised, sardonic eyebrow.

“She’s excited,” Bucky shrugs, then turns to her with a grin. “He doesn’t speak Russian, remember?”

With an embarrassed but impatient exhale, she repeats the same questions in English.

Tony quickly explains Scott’s abilities as Ant Man, and insists they let him sleep. He deserves it. He’s been checking out the bunker for two weeks, and he’s exhausted. Besides, he’s also caused a little trouble there - because when does he not - and Tony wants him to have to explain it himself. 

It’s hours later when Scott wakes up. Bucky’s had his hands full all day, trying to counter all the excuses Marya keeps making to go back and talk to him, and find things to distract her. Sex worked for a few hours, but eventually even that stopped keeping her fully occupied, and he had to suggest a workout. She’s only gotten more anxious as the day’s gone on. 

Right now, she’s beside herself and trying to work out her impatient irritation by tossing Bucky around in various throws that are making him regret his cavalier offer to play the attacker. He tries not to wince as he goes in again, trying to immobilize her. She gets a shoulder under him – how does she keep _doing_ that? – and once again, he finds himself pinned with her foot on his neck. He tells himself it’s just that she’s got so much adrenaline surging through her, and he’s kind of worn out from last night and this morning. And again this morning. He makes a point not to think about the fact that she’s been in the same bed he’s been in.

Finally, it’s time to get together and hear what Scott Lang has to say. It’s great intel. He’s been everywhere in the bunker, learned the routine of the place – as much routine as there is – and created a detailed diagram. Marya created one when she arrived, too, but Scott was able to get inside walls and machines and fill in some details about wiring and such that she couldn’t know, not being able to shrink to the size of an insect like Scott can.

He was also able to talk with the captives, but only briefly. That’s where the problem came in. The Hydra brass are livid that their Asset and Troop Eight escaped. They’re not convinced they acted alone, and haven’t given up trying to get the other Troops to talk. The Troops told him that one of them was being tortured at that moment, so he’d hurriedly assured them that “Eight” was safe and with The Avengers, and that he would see what he could do for the Troop being questioned.

Scott shrunk himself and entered the room where the interrogation was happening, to see five goons having a field day with the Troop and a couple of stun batons. He found himself particularly disapproving of their methods and unable to resist interfering. He’d _thought_ that he’d figured out how the power was routed in the room, and all he’d meant to do was turn out the lights, fuck with the goons a little, and then open the door so the Troop could escape. Instead, he’d ended up fried, full-sized, and trying to explain his presence (and his suit) to a roomful of thugs who spoke only Russian.

The Troop, of course, spoke English perfectly well and was pretty quick on the uptake, to boot. He told the goons that Scott was using a new Hydra invention that allowed him to become invisible in order to do “performance audits” on their behavior. Off the cuff, the Troop made up a series of imaginary Hydra regulations on the spot and translated Scott’s stinging rebuke for violating them. In fact, all Scott was saying was that he thought them bad-mannered and questioned their commitment to hygiene, but they didn’t know that. While Scott recovered and repaired his suit, the Troop had the Hydra flunkies on the floor doing situps as punishment. 

Hearing that, Marya’s face lights up and she jumps up with a shriek from her seat at the conference table to hug Scott where he stands. He looks fairly happy about that, except that with her enhanced strength, he seems a little sore afterward. 

“That had to be my brother! My true brother, the one who was taken with me. Did he tell you his name? Was it _Desit’_?”

Scott steps back. “If it was, you’re not gonna hug me again, are ya’? ‘Cause I bruise easy.” 

“Not if you don’t want me to,” she laughs, radiating joy.

“I think that was it. He looks kinda like you. Big scar on his forehead?”

“Yes! That’s him!”

“All right, all right,” Steve says, signaling Marya to return to her chair. “I’m glad he’s OK, Marya, but let’s get on with this.”

Bucky’s happy she’s happy, and puts an arm around her as she sits back down next to him. 

“They really should’ve taken the dumb ones,” she whispers smugly in his ear. 

There is now no question that everything Bucky and Marya have been saying about the bunker is true. With the intel Scott’s provided, the entire team goes into planning mode. The plan has two goals: rescue the captives, and destroy the Hydra bunker completely. Steve wants absolute destruction, and confirmation that nothing is going to survive this time. Uncharacteristically, for once he’s not even particularly harping on trying not to kill anyone. 

Preparing for the operation takes a long time, because Steve’s determined to wipe Hydra out completely while keeping his entire team safe, and Marya and Scott keep pointing out flaws in the plan. But it’s finally happening. Bucky feels a sense of satisfaction and anticipation he hasn’t felt about a mission since his days with the 107th. It feels good. It feels clean. 

For the first time since Steve found him in Bucharest and brought him, eventually, to the Compound, Bucky thinks he’s happy. Actually happy. Besides being part of destroying the remnants of the thing he hates above all else, he’s also building something good. It’s so easy to be with Marya. She’s had the serum, just like he has, which means she’s as horny as he is, and has the stamina to back it up. She’s also so strong he doesn’t have to hold back for fear of hurting her.

Because she’s so unsophisticated, having grown up in such an insular world, she has no guile at all. She says exactly what she means, and doesn’t know how to twist him around with the coy, underhanded feminine games that used to make him want to pull his hair out in frustration. Which isn’t to say she isn’t playful. She makes him laugh a hundred times a day, between asking adorably naïve questions one minute and, in the next, mocking him like the smartass she is. 

Best of all, he can tell her anything about his patchy, horrific memories of his time as Hydra’s mindless weapon, and she understands. She doesn’t judge him; she can’t. She doesn’t want to, because she is entirely certain that they are innocent of blame for any of the things Hydra made them do. And the more they dig through his memories, the more he risks actually thinking about and even saying some of those things out loud, the more he’s able to question his own responsibility in it all. 

Because Bucky simply can’t maintain his belief that he’s a monster at the same time he’s falling in love with someone just like him. 

Maybe he and Marya don’t have a lifetime of shared experience like he and Steve do. Maybe they don’t know each other’s thoughts before they even think them. Maybe Bucky still aches for Steve every minute of every day. But Bucky and Marya also don’t have the insurmountable obstacles that loom between him and Steve. 

The one thing he would change if he could is that Steve seems to have no use for him anymore, even as a friend. Ironically, Steve’s closer to Marya now than he is to Bucky. Ever since Steve showed a willingness to teach her combat techniques, she hasn’t been able to get enough, and he seems to be just as glad to show her. Bucky knows Marya likes Steve, and the feeling appears to be mutual. Strange as it seems, they seem at ease with one another. So now, after a month at the Compound, when Bucky finds himself looking for Marya, he’s just as likely to find her in the training building with Steve as anywhere else. 

But when he does, Steve gets stiff and quiet and makes some mumbled excuse to get away without looking at Bucky. Steve and Bucky haven’t just hung out even once since they’ve been back, and Steve’s entirely stopped working out or training with him. It’s excruciating, and Bucky misses Steve more than he could ever have imagined. It’s part of why he asks Marya about their lessons; if he can’t talk _to_ Steve, he can at least talk _about_ him. Maybe this is the way it has to be, Bucky thinks, so that Steve will move on. He just wishes it didn’t hurt so fucking much he can hardly breathe.

Bucky’s been working a lot with Sam lately. They’re not close, although they’ve developed a sort of faux rivalry that Bucky really enjoys and thinks Sam does, too. But Bucky respects Sam’s insights, and he knows Sam doesn’t pity him. He knows Sam just recognizes him for the psychologically injured soldier he is. That’s Sam’s wheelhouse, and he’s been willing to spend an hour or so every few days in what Bucky’s starting to think of as their “sessions”. It’s helping.

This evening, while Bucky’s with Sam, Marya’s in the Training Building with Steve. They’re done for the night; Marya was willing to keep going, but Steve knows when to quit, even if she doesn’t. They’re sitting on the edge of the massive mat that covers a good-sized section of the floor, but they’re not talking about combat. They’re talking about Bucky. And for the first time, they’re arguing. Sort of. 

“I think you’re wrong. You don’t know him like I do.” Steve winces. “Did.”

“Captain, please don’t do that.“

“Look, I appreciate that you’re lookin’ out for him. But just… leave it alone.”

“Why?”

“Because it’s none of your damn business, lady. That’s why.” Steve’s not usually rude, especially to women, but _damn_. Of all people he does _not_ want to talk to about his relationship with Bucky…

Interestingly, she doesn’t say anything, but she also doesn’t get up in a huff, either. That’s kind of why he said that, kind of what he wants her to do. Then again, he doesn’t. Talking with her is the closest he can get to Bucky now. 

For a surprisingly long time, they just sit, silently thinking their own thoughts, until Steve says, “I’m sorry. It’s just that, he and I… it’s a mess.”

“When I first saw you together, it was obvious you love each other.”

Jeez. What a thing for Bucky’s _girlfriend_ to say. Any other woman, Steve would think she was baiting him, but he doesn’t think Marya would even know what that is. “We’ve known each other our whole lives. Depended on each other. We used to be closer than brothers.” 

“And you were lovers.” It’s just a statement of fact. This conversation’s getting a little weird for Steve.

“Yeah, but that was a long time ago. Anyway, now he has you. And I’m glad. I think you’re good for him.”

“You don’t mean that. But it was a generous thing to say.”

“Anyway, I’m trying to mean it. But it’s hard. I’m still in love with him.” Steve has absolutely no idea where that comes from, and he sure as hell doesn’t know why he says it to _her_ , of all people. Maybe he says it to hurt her. Maybe it’s a challenge. Or maybe he just needs to talk to somebody about his love for Bucky so bad he’s lost every ounce of pride he had left.

But she’s not hurt, or angry, and she’s certainly not gloating. If anything, she seems a little… sad? And now that he’s started, he can’t stop.

“I died when he fell off that train. I felt like there was no point to anything. The plane crash after that, you know about that?”

“Yes.”

“I crashed that plane because I had to. I couldn’t let that bomb reach its target. And I was scared, I mean, I didn’t particularly want to die, exactly. But the thing is… What I was thinkin’ about at the end, was Bucky. I was gonna get to see Bucky. And I thought, that’s all right then. I didn’t particularly like livin’ without him, anyway.”

Marya just nods. “But you didn’t die. And neither did he.”

“When I first woke up, and I saw where I was, that I hadn’t died? I wasn’t happy. I wasn’t relieved. I was pissed. Everything about waking up seventy years after I crashed that plane, it all sucked. But the worst part was that I _still_ didn’t get to be with Bucky.” Steve’s eyes are unfocused, looking back into memory. “And then I saw him, that day on the bridge.”

“And you found him, and you rescued him.”

“I had no choice. It was _Bucky_. I didn’t know how, or why, all I knew was that somehow, Bucky was alive and in the world somewhere, and I had to get to him. I knew all the shit he’d done. I learned everything I could about him. And I learned even more terrible things once we’d found him. But I didn’t care. I still don’t. All those people, all those governments tryin’ to stop me, everybody tellin’ me he was too far gone, none of it mattered. All I wanted, all I’ve _ever_ wanted, is Bucky.” 

“He knows that, Captain,” Marya says softly. She takes a breath, like she knows he’s not gonna like what she’s about to say. “The thing is, love like that, it can be… heavy, if you think you don’t deserve it.”

_That_ pisses Steve off. “What the hell does that mean? I never blamed him for anything. I didn’t expect anything from him, or try to change him. So what’s heavy about it?” He slams a hand into the mat, flat-palmed, making a noise that rattles the windows. 

“It’s nothing you did or didn’t do, Captain. You’re not the problem. The problem is what doing those terrible things did to him.”

Steve stands and starts to pace, his voice raising in pitch and volume as he vents more of the frustration he’s been trying to keep inside. “He could barely stand to have me touch him. He avoided even seeing me for a while. But I couldn’t stay away from him, and he started to let me get closer. I pushed. I know I shouldn’t have, but I couldn’t stop myself. We were both alive, and together, and it was a miracle, but that wasn’t good enough for me. I was desperate for what we’d had before. And for a while, it looked like we might be able to get there. We even made love a few times. But there was always this wall between us. It was like we were standing on either side, both of us wanting to get to each other, but we just couldn’t seem to break through it. In the end, he stopped trying. He said he was just too tainted, too _defiled_. And he told me I had to find someone _worthy_ of my love.” He spits the word with an ugly grimace.

“He just wasn’t ready to be loved by someone as good as you are.”

“Doesn’t seem to have any problem accepting it from you,” Steve snarls, unable to contain the flare of jealousy. 

“That’s because I’m as evil as he is.”

Steve scoffs and pulls his hands painfully through his hair, turning away from her. “He doesn’t think you’re evil.”

“He doesn’t think I’m good. Not like you. To him, you’re spotless. Virtuous.” Marya stands then. “I’m not like that. That’s why he can let me in.”

“I never claimed to be some kinda _paragon_.”

“Maybe not. But to him, you are. And that’s why he couldn’t let you love him.” She waits to see if she’s going to respond and, when he doesn’t, starts toward the shower room.

Steve lets her go. He knows that if he says anything right this minute, it’s gonna be ugly. Something about this broad who’s known Bucky all of ten seconds talking like she knows him makes Steve want to hurl. And still he couldn’t keep himself from saying far, far too much. _Shit_. He knew they were getting into dangerous territory. He should never have said any of that stuff, to anyone, and now he’s blabbed it to the last person on the planet who should’ve heard it. He thinks he hurt Marya’s feelings somehow, too, without a clue what it was he even _said_ , and although he’s irritated as all hell with her, he felt like they were starting to be friends. Now he’s blown that potential friendship, which will undoubtedly fuck up his oldest friendship even more than it already was. 

It doesn’t get better for Steve for the rest of the evening. He has to watch Bucky and Marya, looking like they’re ready to tear each other’s clothes off and fuck right there on the table, and he has to listen to Tony and Scott telling him he’s three kinds of wrong about how they’re going to blow up the Hydra bunker once they get everybody out. Natasha is in a mood, snarling at everyone and Steve in particular. Clint and Sam are chattering about some inane TV show, which is stomping on Steve’s last nerve, while Bruce goes on, again, about how The Avengers really need to go vegan.

The more he thinks about his life, the more he realizes how incredibly unfair and fucked up it all is. Why does _he_ have to be Captain America? Why does _he_ have to lead this ridiculous group of mavericks and freaks who all think they know better than he does and probably do? When’s it _his_ turn to have someone look at him like he’s made of chocolate and shits rainbows, the way Marya’s looking at Bucky? Maybe he should just hang it all up and let the world be destroyed if it’s going to. He’s exhausted, he’s up to his ass in world-shattering problems, he’s insanely horny, he’s desperately lonely, and he just wants to be left the fuck alone.

Some days it sucks to be Steve Rogers. 

It’s late that night when Bucky makes his way from the kitchen back to his rooms, carrying a plate of peanut-butter sandwiches because he and Marya have already burned off everything they ate at dinner. Steve’s just coming out his door. From his clothes, it looks like he’s going for a late-night run. Everything in Bucky wants to confront Steve, to make him talk to him. He stops as they approach each other, and tries to look casual as he says, “Hey.”

Steve looks like he swallowed a frog. “Refueling?” He asks with a cruel sneer. 

“Uh… wha-“ 

“You think I can’t hear you two?” Steve pushes angrily by Bucky. 

“Shit, Steve, I’m sorry… I didn’t even think-“ 

“Yeah. Whatever.” 

_How are they_ already _arguing_? “No, Steve, c’mon. I’m sorry. I would never… You _know_ that.“ 

Steve turns around and walks back, getting in Bucky’s face. “You know somethin’, Buck? I _don’t_ know that. And you know _why_ I don’t know that? Because I don’t know the first fuckin’ thing about you. Because _you won’t tell me_.” He steps back. “So, fine. You found someone you _can_ talk to. I’m happy for you, I really am. Hell, I’m crazy about her myself. But can we please quit pretending we’re best buddies, huh? We used to be, and it was great. But we’re not anymore. With the shit we’ve been through, who could blame us? We should just be glad we’re even alive.” 

“ _Steve_ -“ 

“Just leave me the hell alone.” 

With that, Steve starts back down the hall, lifting his forearms and jogging, like he’s starting his run already rather than just getting away from Bucky as fast as he can go. 

Bucky’s in a lousy mood after that, although he tries to hide it. He’s glad when Marya says she thinks she should practice sleeping alone. He’s too wrapped up in his own head to even notice the strangeness of that claim, and he’s certainly not currently thinking about the fact that Steve isn’t the only one with enhanced hearing. 

He waits up. He’s not even pretending to himself that he’s not waiting for Steve to come back. When he hears Steve in the hall, he doesn’t hesitate. 

Steve sees him as he turns to shut his door. Bucky doesn’t ask to come in, just pushes past Steve and shuts the door himself. 

“Bucky, it’s late-“ 

“Like you give a fuck about that. Just come off it, Steve. _Talk to me_. Talk to me like I’m your friend. Talk to me like I’m the guy who used to come lookin’ anytime I couldn’t see you on the schoolyard, and save your tiny ass from whatever bruiser you’d called out.” 

“Talk to you. That’s ironic, coming from you.” 

“Maybe it is. Maybe I’m a complete asshole and I got a helluva nerve, callin’ myself your friend. But I do. I _am_. And this bein’ strangers shit, it ain’t workin’ for me.” 

“Yeah? Tell it to someone who cares.” Steve goes into his bathroom and slams the door. Bucky thinks about laying on the bed while he waits, but thinks better of it and just takes a chair. He’s sitting there, feet up, reading a book when Steve comes out. He’s wearing nothing but a towel, and Bucky notices. 

“You gotta be kiddin’ me,” Steve sighs, seeing him. 

“This is a great book,” Bucky says, kind of enjoying Steve’s discomfort. “You ever read this?” 

Steve crosses the room to a chest of drawers and pulls out a pair of underwear. He gives Bucky a dirty look as he rips off the towel and throws it to the floor. Bucky chuckles. 

“You’re an asshole,” Steve grumbles. 

“You’re worse.” 

Once he gets his underwear on, Steve pulls on a pair of drawstring pajama pants and a plain white T-shirt and goes to sit on the end of his bed across from Bucky. “What do you want?” 

“I want my friend back.” 

“Yeah, well, I want world peace.” 

“I’d settle for peace right here in this room.” 

Steve gets up and starts to pace. “Bucky…” 

Bucky gets up, too. “Look, I’m sorry. I’m sorry I’m so fucked up. What you did for me, I’ll never be able to pay that back. And I’d do the same for you, a hundred times over. That’s who we are to each other. The other stuff… I don’t regret a second of it. But it was always a risk. We said so, remember? And it didn’t work out, so now here we are.” 

“Yeah. Now here we are.” 

Bucky can feel himself starting to panic. That dead tone in Steve’s voice is killing him. Aside from everything else, Steve’s the one person who can anchor him in this noisy, smelly, too-fast future they’re living in. The one person who knows who Bucky Barnes was… before. If their friendship is dead, like everything else from the world Bucky still thinks of as the “real” one… “Please, Stevie, just try. I want it back the way it used to be. I _need_ that. I’m not even _me_ if we’re not friends. I’m nothing. All right?” 

The way Steve looks at Bucky, it’s an even bet whether he’s gonna hug him or knock his block off. At this point, Bucky will take either one. But Steve doesn’t say anything. 

“Steve. _Please_.” 

Bucky watches while Steve has a whole conversation with himself, which Bucky can practically hear. He knows exactly what things Steve’s weighing against each other, and Bucky’s heart’s in his throat, because he knows one of those things is whether Bucky’s even worth all the bullshit. It goes on for an excruciatingly long time. 

“All right, Buck. I’ll try,” Steve sighs, weariness in every angle of his body. 

“Yeah?” Bucky knows he sounds like they’re fourteen again. He feels like it. 

Steve looks into his eyes from five feet away and shakes his head. “I swear, you’re the biggest pain in the ass…” 

Bucky, ecstatic with relief, rushes him and they hug like they used to. Strongly. Fiercely. They both have tears in their eyes. 


	8. Return to Siberia

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bucky Barnes is about to leave for Siberia with some of The Avengers and a team, to destroy a new incarnation of Hydra and free a squad of captive Troops who were abducted as children to be made into Hydra soldiers. Before the team leaves, Bucky asks Marya, the former Hydra captive, about her plans for after the mission. He's admitted he's in love with her, now he wants to know whether she'll come back to the Compound with him for good.  
> The team arrives in Siberia and prepares, determined to destroy this last remnant of Hydra.

The night before the team leaves for Siberia has been a weird night. Everyone’s been on edge, wandering around doing entirely unnecessary last-minute preparations and checking things they’ve already checked so many times it’s starting to be like a nervous tic. It’s always like this before an op but, for Bucky, this one’s been a little weirder than most.

He’s been checking Marya’s preparations in addition to his, and he’s nervous for her in a way he never is for himself, or even Steve. He knows she can handle herself in a fight, and he knows some people would think he’s being a macho caveman, but he’s from the ‘30’s and that’s what you do for the woman you love. He can’t _not_ do it, so he just tries to be discreet about it. 

Marya’s in a strange mood, too. She’s as anxious as everyone else, and chomping at the bit to start what she’s been working toward all this time, but there’s more to it, and Bucky’s at a loss as to what it is. As much experience as he has with women, and as easily as he can charm them, he’s never kidded himself that he understands them. Given her odd upbringing, she’s simpler and more direct than most, but not tonight. Tonight she keeps saying there’s nothing wrong, and it’s a straight-up lie. 

She’s moving slowly, staying focused in the moment in a way she never has before. Usually, she lets herself surrender to sensations, but tonight she’s watching Bucky’s every move and expression as she rides him. He’s lying in his favorite oversized recliner, which means he can’t move a whole lot, but she doesn’t seem to want him to. She’s moving just enough to keep him hard and inside her, kissing him slowly and thoroughly, like she’s trying to make it all last as long as humanly possible. She keeps lifting her face to look at him, and he doesn’t believe her that those aren’t tears in her eyes.

“I love you,” she moans softly.

“I love you back.” 

Why that makes her squeeze her eyes shut, as if in pain, he doesn’t know. And she’s smiling, but it’s such a sad smile he wants to grab her shoulders and shake her. Make her either knock it off or tell him what’s wrong.

“I wish I could be in this moment forever with you,” she whispers.

“I wish you’d tell me why you’re sad.”

She doesn’t answer. She leans backward to stretch an arm behind her, and begins caressing his balls, and speeds up the way she’s been rocking up and down on his cock. It’s a phenomenal show, and Bucky’s not complaining, but he’s also not buying it.

“You’re changing the subject,” he growls, sitting up to bury his face in her neck. 

“Yes.”

He decides she’s feeling emotional because of the whole situation – there’s even more at stake for her than for him – and, since she’s not going to talk about it, he turns his attention to their bodies. She’s looking into his eyes as she pulls him with her closer to the edge.

“Your eyes are so beautiful. And your lips…”

It’s the last thing she says before they’re both too breathless to speak, then gasping and shouting as they come, one after the other.

Marya seems to feel better afterward. They actually laugh together a few times as they shower, and she seems to be looking forward to the operation as they check their gear one more time. When they return to Bucky’s rooms, she’s playful as she pushes him down on the bed.

“You can’t be serious,” Bucky exclaims, laughing.

“Don’t worry,” Marya assures him, with an overly serious expression. “I know that you’re a very old man. I’ll do all the work.”

Bucky laughs again. Marya takes his clothes back off – they really do a lot of that, he thinks absently – and begins to stroke him. She’s low down on the bed, so it’s obvious what her intentions are, and he realizes, a few minutes later, that he’s smiling at the ceiling while she holds his hand with one of hers, and uses the other to brace herself while she’s basically worshipping his cock with her lips. Bucky doesn’t even know how many times he’s already come today, but he knows it’s several, and still he’s fully hard when she slides her mouth over him and begins to suck up and down. She’s doing things with her tongue, too, and Bucky strokes her hair with his free hand.

She’s wearing her hair down for him; he likes to see all of that distinctive blonde patch he finds so fascinating and he loves the way it feels falling over his skin. She’s beautiful, with a body that should be sculpted or something, he thinks. There’s nothing he doesn’t like about her. He smiles wider, thinking about the way they met. 

But soon he’s no longer able to think, because she’s got two fingers inside him, doing exactly what he taught her he likes, and she’s driving him out of his mind with her mouth. She lets go of his hand to grasp his cock and pretty soon he’s coming hard, shouting her name amid a torrent of exclamations that probably don’t make much sense, but get the point across.

They both take a while to recover, Marya lying between Bucky’s legs with her head on his stomach. They hold hands and chuckle softly at nothing. When they’re at least breathing normally, Bucky pulls Marya to him so she’s in the crook of his arm, her head resting on his flesh shoulder. He starts to tease her nipple with a metal finger, intending to indulge her the way she’s just done for him. But first, he has a question, and he wants to ask it before he loses his nerve. 

“I love you,” he begins.

“Mmmmm,” she hums drowsily, and he can hear she’s smiling. “And I love you.”

“I want to ask you something. I should’ve asked before now, but I think I was chicken.”

She raises up to look at him. "A chicken?“

Bucky’s never going to not love Marya’s confused look. He laughs nervously. "It’s an expression. Means I was afraid.”

She snuggles back into him. "Don’t be afraid. You can ask me anything.“

"What I wanted to know is… What do you think you’re gonna do when this is over? When the Troops are free and Hydra’s destroyed? Do you… have plans?”

Her hesitation is all he needs to tell that she knows what he’s asking.

“We all talked about it, but it always seemed so overwhelming. The farthest we ever got was that some were certain they wanted to stay together, and some were certain they didn’t.”

He swallows. _Geronimo_ , he thinks, and asks the question. "And you?“

"I’ll stay with my brothers and sisters. I need them. And they’ll need me.”

 _Fuck_.

Bucky’s chest feels like it’s imploding. He’d more than half expected that answer. It’s why he hasn’t asked until now. But he’s been hoping, and his disappointment is harsh, jagged.

Marya sits up. She turns to him and looks deeply into his eyes as he lays looking up at her. “I love you, Sergeant. I’ve never felt for anyone what I feel for you. You know that, don’t you?”

“You’ve said it often enough. But if you love me, then… You know I love you, too.”

“I do,” she smiles in a way Bucky can’t begin to interpret.

“What I’m getting at is, you could come back here. For good. I know the team would agree. You and me could…”

Marya puts two fingers on his lips. "I would love that. I want that more than anything.“

Warning bells are going off all over the place in Bucky’s gut. He sits up to face her. "That’s not a yes.”

“No,” she says, hiccupping just a little as she forces the word out. A fat tear has formed and is already falling as she goes on. "That’s not a yes.“

"Didn’t we just agree that we love each other? Don’t you wanna at least think about it?”

“Oh, Sergeant, I have been thinking about it. If you knew how much I want to be here with you…”

“Then say yes,” he urges, hearing the pleading in his voice but unable to do anything about it. “What’s the holdup?”

Marya takes time to wipe the tears she seems to be fighting as hard as she can. She leans toward him and touches his forehead with hers. "My love. My beautiful, brave, wounded man. I told you, I love you. That means I want you to be happy. And you will. With the man you love.“

Bucky’s stunned. He opens and closes his mouth several times, trying to find something to say. 

"Marya, no. C'mon, you know that’s over. I’ll never -”

“Sergeant, if you say you’ll never be good enough for him, when we’ve just agreed that you’re good enough for _me_ , I’m going to disable your arm again and hit you with it until you apologize.”

She’s grinning a little, trying to lighten the moment, but all he can do is stare at her, his own tears threatening.

“I think you get it now,” she murmurs, laying a hand on his cheek. Her touch is soft and reverent and she’s smiling sadly again, while two more heavy tears make their way down her cheeks. “You are good enough for him. You always were.”

“Marya…”

“I believe you when you say you love me. It’s something I’ll treasure always, that I got to be special to you for a little while. But the way I love you? That’s the way you love him. He loves you that way, too. It’s wonderful. You’re both so lucky. I hope someday I’ll have that.”

“I hope so, too,” Bucky whispers.

He’s crying messily as they kiss. "I don’t want you to go.“

"I don’t want to go, either. But I need to find my Captain America. And you need to fix things with yours.”

Bucky hugs Marya, hard, and doesn’t let go for a long time. He can feel her shaking as she cries, just like he is.

“Will you do something for me?” He asks, sniffling.

“I’d do anything for you.”

“Stay with me tonight. I want to sleep with you in my arms, just one more night.” 

If Marya could have had any going-away gift from Bucky, that’s what she would have asked for.  
  


  


Steve sees a definite change in Bucky between yesterday and this morning. He looks like he hasn’t slept. Steve pretty much expected that. But he’s also got something weighing heavily on him. Steve knows Bucky’s face too well not to see it, even though he’s trying to hide it, for whatever reason. 

****

****

He likes the fact that he can ask now. Since they talked, they’ve both been making an effort to get back to normal. They’re not there yet. But the fact that they’re both trying makes Steve feel better than he has in a while. When he catches Bucky alone for a moment as they’re loading gear, Steve takes his opportunity. 

“You doin’ OK there, Buck? And don’t say 'Im fine’, or I’ll bungee you to this Humvee and you can ride to Russia back here.”

Steve feels a little thrill at Bucky’s smile, even though it’s weak and accompanied by deep frown lines in his forehead.

“Ask me again, after. I’ll tell ya’ then.” Bucky puts a hand heavily on Steve’s shoulder and gives a squeeze as he heads back to the hatch.

“I will.” Steve calls after him, “I got you, you know.”

This smile is a little sadder, if that’s possible. “Yeah. I know.”

Steve wonders what that’s about, but he’s got a mission to run. Later will have to do.  
  


  
Bucky sleeps on the plane, like most of the team. There’s nothing else to do, and they’re gonna need it. Besides, Bucky couldn’t sleep the night before; his head, and his bruised heart, were too full.

When it had become obvious that Marya wasn’t going to sleep, either, he’d buried his head between her thighs and tried to show her how much she means to him. Afterward, he thinks they both cried a little as they kissed and touched and made love until Jarvis politely interrupted them to let them know it was time to get up. 

Steve can see him now, across the cabin, stretched out as far as room permits, head thrown back. It’s ridiculous how Bucky looks so much better than anyone should (and than anyone else does) when they’re sleeping. Steve’s been napping off and on, but he can’t usually get any deep sleep before an op. 

Marya told him she’s the same, and it appears to be true. She left the cabin a while before, and hasn’t returned. Steve decides that misery loves company, and goes to see what she’s doing. 

This is the same plane they took to Switzerland, except that there’s no rear compartment on this mission. Instead, the rear of the plane is stuffed with the equipment and vehicles they’ll need. 

Marya is standing to one side of the middle medical compartment, stretching and looking grim. 

“I would’ve thought you’d be feeling pretty good right now,” he says when he catches her attention. “This is what it’s all been for, right?” 

“Yes,” she says, with a smile so forced it’s practically a grimace. 

“So, listen. As long as I got you alone, I feel like I owe you an apology.” 

At least her questioning frown looks sincere. “Why?” 

“I was rude to you the other night. I’m sorry.” 

“You weren’t rude to me. You trusted me with what I assume are confidences, didn’t you? Things that hurt you? You have feelings about those things. That’s all I saw.” 

“Well, thanks.” 

Steve stretches, too, because he needs to, and because it’s cold as hell in the bare fuselage and moving helps. 

Bucky had looked troubled earlier, but Marya actually looks like shit. Steve isn’t sure she’ll talk to him, but it’s his turn to listen to her troubles, so he has to at least ask. 

“Do you want to talk about it?” 

“No.” At least she doesn’t insult him by trying to deny anything’s wrong. 

“You can, if you want to. You listened to me.” 

“I guess that means Sergeant Barnes told you I’m not coming back, then?” 

“You’re… What, not coming back to the Compound?” 

“Right.” 

Steve can’t believe what she’s telling him, and he’s immediately ready to argue with her. God knows he knows how Bucky feels about Marya. "But, you and Bucky…?“ 

She bends backward into a bridge, not saying anything while her body’s arched, belly up, resting on her hands and feet. Only after she kicks her legs gracefully over her head and stands again does she respond. 

"I suppose it’s my turn to say that I’m in love with him.” 

“Not exactly news.” 

She makes a sour face at Steve. It’s like a shadow of the mock-disgusted expression she’d be giving him another time. 

“He loves you, too.” Steve says, already fighting for Bucky. “You don’t doubt that, do you?” 

“No. I think he does love me, a little. But, the thing is… He doesn’t love me the way he loves you.” 

Steve just stands, frozen in place, looking fairly ridiculous as his thoughts play across his face. He has absolutely no idea how to feel about that, let alone how to respond. He’s dumbfounded, rocked to his core, by the implications of what she’s saying. Marya doesn’t rescue him. It’s probably unfair of him to expect her to, but he’s surprised when she just moves around him to return to the cabin. 

“Marya…” 

She turns around, her distress plain in everything about her. “Captain, don’t make me talk about this. We’re getting close, and I need to focus.” 

“Yeah, but… I mean, are you sure?” 

“I want so much to tell you to take care of him, and cherish him. That seems like what to say right now. But with you two, after everything… that would just be silly.” Her smile this time is real, even though she’s crying now. “Just… Please don’t let him go. Don’t ever let him go.” 

“You, of all people, know I couldn’t if I wanted to.” 

“Make him happy.” 

“I will. I promise.” 

Steve’s surprised when she steps back to him and hugs him. Afterward, she quickly turns and makes her way back to the cabin, leaving Steve to stand in the cold space between the wall of the medical compartment and the bulkhead of the plane, trying to figure out what to do with all his feelings until the mission’s over and he can do something _about_ them.  
  
  


  


Siberia, being huge and frequently snowbound, is peppered with airstrips because planes are the best way (in some cases, the only way) to reach some places. They land at an airstrip about ten miles from the bunker. 

Scott’s made sure the radar and communications at the Hydra airfield are still inoperative, so that the team’s plane is able to land without Hydra being any the wiser. Not that it was hard, with all the damage from the explosion the night Bucky and Marya had escaped, but he’d made sure the new parts Hydra was planning to install were not going to work, and for very difficult-to-diagnose reasons. 

The team begins the process of unloading and prepping the vehicles and gear to be ready when the time comes. While they prepare to take the bunker by force, Scott dons his suit and invades it by stealth. He goes ahead to notify the Troops that The Avengers and their team are there, and to pass on Marya’s orders. 

When he first hears the orders he’s to relay, he laughs, thinking she can’t be serious. She has to convince him that, rather than football play calls, they’re real battle plans. 

“Mr. Lang, my Troops are trained and drilled. We made these plans together, and they’ve been waiting for these orders for a very long time. They don’t need to be told what to do.” 

“Sorry. No offense,” Scott says, and after receiving well wishes from the rest of the team, goes to work. 

When he’s gone, Steve turns to Marya. He sees that, like Bucky, she’s all business now. Whatever else is going on for them, right now, it’s very much on lockdown. “Your Troops. Are you sure they’ll fight for us?” 

“I told you, Captain. They’ll fight for their freedom, and against Hydra, which amounts to the same thing. Just don’t get between them and the door.” 

He nods and turns away. 

“Captain.” 

Steve turns back to Marya, whose large brown eyes look deeply into his bright blue ones. “Yes, Soldier?” 

“Thank you. For helping us.” 

“We need to destroy Hydra for good.” 

“Yes, we do. But it’s much more than that for me, and I am very grateful to you. Just… for the record.” She smiles a little shyly, like she sometimes does when she’s trying out a new bit of English and isn’t quite sure she’s got it right. 

“It’s an honor,” Steve replies, nodding.  
  


  


The wait for Scott to return from the bunker seems eternal. 

In the meantime, Marya meets The Hulk for the first time. Bucky’s right beside her, ready to deal with whatever her reaction’s going to be but, as it turns out, it’s him who’s unprepared. Marya is overcome with shocked glee. She laughs out loud and circles The Hulk, taking him in from all angles with undisguised awe and delight. She insists on him picking her up in his hand because she remembers seeing a poster for a King Kong movie once. She spends a lot of time basically climbing him, and he lets her, while the rest of the team watches and laughs. Bucky and Steve, having unconsciously taken places standing next to one another, trade amused looks. Marya wants The Hulk to dangle her by one foot, but Steve won’t allow it. No sense taking a chance on her getting hurt before the op even starts. Both Marya and The Hulk are disappointed, but they obey.  
  


  


At long last, Scott returns and the team gets ready to go. He has news, though, and it’s not good. 

He takes Marya aside and speaks to her quietly. 

“I wasn’t sure whether to tell you or not, but the Troops said that you needed to know, tactically. Marya, I’m sorry, but Hydra killed one of your Troops.” Scott’s manner is very kind, but Marya’s is icy. It’s clear it’s a painful blow, but she can’t afford to react right now. 

“Who? How?” 

“During interrogation. They’re still trying to find out how you and Barnes escaped. And now, they’ve been asking about me. How I breached the bunker, and who I am. It was a woman named Twenty-Nine. Um… Davsat Devat… something like that?” 

“ _Dvadsat’ Devyat’_.” 

“Yeah. I’m very sorry.” 

Marya nods. Her expression is fierce, but controlled. “Thank you for telling me, Mr. Lang. You were right. I did need to know that.” 

She’s grim and silent when she and Scott step back to rejoin the team. 

“You good to go, Soldier?" Steve asks, not without empathy. 

"Yes, Captain,” she snarls, and her cold fury is plain to see. 

Bucky looks a question at her, but she shakes him off. He gets it. She’s in battle mode. She’ll use whatever’s happened to feed her determination, no room for anything else. He just nods and they board their vehicles. 

It’s begun.


	9. The Bunker

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Avengers team finally takes on the bunker housing the remnant of Hydra.

There are fences around the cluster of buildings that surround the bunker, with guard towers at intervals. The vehicles approach from all directions and stop far enough away from the towers that they can’t be seen before white-clad members of The Avengers’ team, on foot, take the guards out with silenced weapons and Clint’s arrows.

They know that each tower has four guards, and they need to take them out almost simultaneously so none has time to raise an alarm. They’re in teams of two or three. Bucky starts out the day pissed, because Clint shoots one of his targets.

“Hey! You don’t get three!” Bucky whines.

“I left you one,” Clint shrugs. “Be faster next time.”  
  
  
  
The fence is electrified and has monitoring devices in it, but it might as well not be there for all the deterrence it provides to entry. The problem is that the area around the fence is mined. Or that _would be_ a problem if the Troops hadn’t long ago found maps of the mines’ locations. Marya brought copies with her when she and Bucky escaped, and the vehicles just drive between the mines.

Now that they’re on the grounds of the facility, the teams in each vehicle begin to blow up their assigned buildings. Scott’s recon showed that they’re mostly used for storage: supplies, vehicles, munitions, equipment and spare parts. But there’s no point giving anyone from the bunker someplace to run to. Besides, the point is total destruction of the remnants of Hydra. Total.

Since it’s a pretty fun job, there was a lottery to determine who got to wield the rocket launchers, but Bucky and Marya each get one because of their personal experiences with Hydra. Bucky’s in a Humvee coming in from a different direction, but Steve thinks he’s probably wearing an expression a lot like the one he sees on Marya’s face: a vicious, primal satisfaction as she watches her building erupt in flame before collapsing.

“Guess now they know we’re here,” Steve notes, catching the rocket launcher as Marya tosses it to him. He watches her spring lightly from their modified APC and take off for the small square enclosure that houses the door into the bunker she’d last exited with Bucky the night they’d escaped. She’ll be met by a group of her Troops in the equipment room at the bottom of the ladder.  
  
  
  
There are three sentries outside the enclosure. Marya shoots two of them, but the third takes cover on the other side, in front of the door. He’s freaking out. He keeps his back to the door, and every few seconds, whips his weapon to one side or the other to shoot. It’s not a bad plan, even though he’s losing his shit while he does it. The problem is, Marya’s not coming around the side.

“ _Privyet_ ,” she says. He looks up to see her smiling down at him from the roof of the enclosure. She jumps down before he can swing his weapon up to aim at her, grabbing the barrel as she twists to land on her feet. She wrenches the weapon from his hands and smashes the butt into his face. She takes the weapon and a sidearm she finds on him, then punches the code into a panel beside the door and opens it.  
  
  
  
The sentries outside the main entrance to the bunker are running around, shouting, firing occasionally at nothing, and generally being useless in their panic as the buildings of the complex keep exploding. They do what they’re trained to do in one way, however, and this is the other reason The Avengers are blowing up the buildings. It’s a serious threat, so the sentries contact their commander, who activates the Troops.

Steve and the team in the APC simply wait behind a burning building as Natasha, nearly invisible as she lies prone in the snow in her tight, white jumpsuit, watches the entrance with binoculars. As expected, it’s not ten minutes before eight heavily armed soldiers emerge from the entrance. They aren’t wearing uniforms like the sentries. They’re wearing all black, with armored vests, sidearms, and pistols strapped to their thighs. Natasha can tell from the way they move and their wise choices of positions that these soldiers are an entirely different breed from the uniformed sentries. Besides that, they emerged in a tight formation that fanned out to cover the entrance in a maneuver so uniform it looked like a drill team she’d watched once in a military parade.

These have to be the Troops. Her supposition is confirmed when the sentries not-very-subtly take positions behind the black-clad soldiers. She’s not too sure about this next part. It feels weird. But, putting two fingers to the sides of her mouth, she gives the loudest whistle she’s capable of. She lifts the binoculars just in time to see the Troops, as one, turn and fire on the sentries. _Huh. Guess that’s not such a bad signal._

Steve reaches a hand down and pulls Natasha into the APC as it passes her, now that it can drive right up to the massive entrance.

Bucky, Clint, and the team in their Humvee basically repeat the same process at the smaller entrance half a mile away. Sam and his team take the third entrance.

There are several outposts within the complex where armed Hydra operatives are stationed, and they get frantic calls for help. They pile into vehicles and come to the aid of the bunker. There are only three roads in, however. Sam’s team blew craters in one of them as they drove to the bunker, so the would-be reinforcements have to use the other two. Those who take one road meet Ironman and his team. Those who take the other meet The Hulk and his. None of them makes it to the bunker to assist their comrades.

Entering the bunker has been the easy part, though. The bunker’s huge. It’s labyrinthine and has eight levels. It’s filled with Hydra officers, guards, scientists, technicians, and flunkies. All of them believe in Hydra, and all of them want to live.  
  
  
  
The main entrance to the bunker opens into a large open area where vehicles enter a tunnel going down into the lower levels. Steve and his team take the APC down the tunnel to the second level. To one side of the tunnel is an archway over the top of a wide staircase opening out into an enormous Hall with a massive metal skull and tentacles symbol looming over all from the opposite wall. Six of the Troops, with Natasha, take the Hall. It’s not a bad setup, defensively. The stairway, while looking grand and sweeping, is a shooting gallery with nowhere to hide for anyone trying to enter that way. Armed guards in the hall can hide behind the wide pillars supporting the roof and the heavy furniture arrayed in groupings throughout the immense space.

First, Natasha and the Troops don breathing masks. Natasha’s is streamlined and capable of filtering smoke from the air as she breathes it in. It’s also cool, because she needled and harassed Tony until she was satisfied with how it looked. Natasha has priorities.

The Troops’ masks are bulkier and attached to small canisters of air affixed to their backs. Once they’re secured, four of the Troops toss grenades in perfect unison from the open area at the entrance through the archway and down into the hall. The resulting explosions create chaos and, more importantly, a great deal of smoke. Following that, other Troops – again without a sound or signal but in unison - toss small fragmentation grenades through the archway. There’s a lot of screaming down there and, for a few moments, the Troops just wait. Natasha has no idea how they know when to separate and begin to move in lockstep down the walls at either side of the stairway.  
  
  
  
As soon as the APC reaches the fourth level, Steve’s team jumps from it and fans out in three teams of three. Theirs is the difficult job of clearing this level and the one above, which are made up of dozens of rooms. The fourth level is offices, meeting rooms, and communications rooms. Each room will need to be cleared. The three teams move out in their prearranged routes, while Steve and the two remaining Troops from the main entrance head for the communications room. It’s the biggest room on this level, and they need to secure it quickly. But not too quickly.

Steve kind of has to laugh at the way the Troops look at him for the first few seconds, before their discipline takes over. He guesses Captain America is kind of a lot, at first glance. He wonders what they’ll think when they meet Ironman and The Hulk. The Troops flank him and, when they reach the Communications room, they flatten themselves to the wall just outside. Steve can’t whistle like Natasha can, so he nods to the Troop who has assured him that she can, wincing as she gives the short, shrill signal.

Immediately, Steve and his Troops enter the room and begin taking out the Hydra technicians and other workers manning the comms equipment. A second team, made up of four Troops, enters from the opposite side and begins doing the same. The melee is fierce and chaotic, with shooting and screams and plenty of punches and kicks. Even the technicians are trained, so it takes a long time to secure the room. While the fighting goes on, Steve notes that the Troops appear to work in twos, taking on the Hydra combatants in a coordinated, practiced way that looks more like a dance than a fight.

When all the Hydra operatives are incapacitated, Steve sets half of the Troops to destroying the communications equipment. With the other three, he moves up to the third level. On the way, he realizes what it was that seemed odd to him about what just happened. There was plenty of shouting and screeching from the Hydra people, and Steve did some yelling himself. But, aside from grunts of effort and short, percussive noises that Steve now realizes were communication, the Troops made no noise, and said nothing. He’s glad they’re on the same side. Something about their wordless, cooperative, and deadly efficiency is definitely scary.  
  
  
  
Bucky can whistle with the best of them. When he does, he watches through his binoculars as the team of four Troops sent to reinforce the uniformed sentries turns and efficiently dispatches them. Bucky’s team enters on foot – only the main entrance is built for vehicles – and heads for the fifth level. He grins a little as he notices that his team members, even Clint, give the Troops a lot of personal space. He thinks Marya would be proud to see that. Almost as soon as he has that thought, he shoves it into the vault. No time for thoughts of her.

There’s a team of three more Troops waiting for them on the stairway just outside the entrance to the fifth level. The fighting starts almost immediately, and it’s fierce. The people on this level are not only trained in combat, they’re the trainers. This is where they’ll find the greatest concentration of guards outside the seventh level, where the incarceration cells and that fucking lab are. The door from the stairs opens into a very large gym or training facility, and they’re going to have to shoot their way in. There’s no cover once they get inside.

The team knew this was going to be a bloody level. They lose two members of Bucky’s team and one of the Troops getting across the gym, and Clint gets a pretty good graze on one leg. And that’s the easy part. From here, there are smaller rooms they need to clear. Bucky’s soon shooting and swinging, laser-focused on getting every Hydra asshole either incapacitated or herded to the level below, where they’ll be cornered.  
  
  
  
Sam’s not crazy about this part of the op. He’s all about the freedom of the sky, not slinking around underground, and he doesn’t know how he ended up with the lowest levels. He’s looking forward to what he gets to do later. Still, he and his Humvee full of soldiers does what they have to do, driving as close as they can and then taking cover behind their vehicle as they engage the sentries at this entrance. It’s not a vehicle entrance, so there are only six sentries, and two of those lose their nerve as their comrades are gunned down. Those two retreat into the entrance, which Sam knows won’t help them, because that’s where Marya and the last two Troops are.

Sam doesn’t even have time to finish checking to see if any of his team is injured before he hears a whistle that signals the team to enter the bunker. When they do, the Troops and Sam’s team acknowledge each other with nods and begin their quick, silent trek to the lowest levels. As expected, they don’t meet with much resistance on the stairs; they see only two frightened office workers scurrying to escape out the entrance. The Troop in the point position frees a knife. Marya makes a “ssst-ssst” noise, and Sam’s surprised to see the Troop immediately sheathe the knife again. The team just passes the office workers by as if they’re not there. They’re no threat so, per Steve’s orders, they’re just allowed to escape.

At the seventh level, the team splits up. Sam, most of his team, and one of the Troops go forward to clear the seventh level. One of Sam’s team is wearing a backpack, and he, Marya, and the other Troop start to head down to the eighth.

That’s when the first complication arises. There won’t be many people on the lowest level, because it’s a maintenance level that houses the main generator and things like water pumps. Those that are there, while nominally combat-trained, are technicians and mechanics, not soldiers. Marya and her team expect that surprise will do most of their work for them, but it’s them who receive the surprise. They burst through the door and have little trouble clearing the first half of the level.

The problem comes when they reach the main generator. It’s supposed to be guarded, and it is. Weapons aren’t a great idea in the dim space, crowded with metal machines and pipes, so the team doesn’t waste much time on gunfire. Instead, they try to figure out how many guards there are, and where they are. When they do, they use hand signals to communicate that information to each other, and the soldier with the backpack puts up a distracting volley of fire while Marya and the other Troop silently and secretly make their way to their locations and take them out one by one.

That, too, works as expected, except for one thing. The last guard is the one with the hideously scarred face who had been present when Bucky had been a prisoner, the one who saw Marya speak to him when pretending to check the straps holding him in the chair. This guy is trouble. He is the lead trainer for the guards and the Troops for a reason.

It takes Marya and the other Troop much longer than planned to flank him. When they do, he’s waiting. The other Troop happens to be on the side the guard’s chosen, and takes a full burst of automatic gunfire. The guard leaps his still-falling body to escape toward the stairway.

This is bad, but it’s not catastrophic. Marya and the soldier with the backpack let the guard go. He’s Sam’s problem now. There’s no one left alive down here, so they begin their work.  
  
  
  
Scott’s busy. Since he can pretty much roam the bunker unseen, and knows it very well, his job is to go where he’s needed. He’s needed on the fifth level right now, because Bucky’s team has lost another soldier and they’re not making any headway getting past the door from the training gym into the rest of the level. Scott comes in from the other side of the bunker, behind the Hydra goons defending the door, and their surprise at being thrown around by seemingly thin air is all Bucky and Clint need to finally gain the rest of the level.  
  
  
  
Natasha’s team and Steve’s team are the first to meet up. Ironman and The Hulk and their teams now have the outside perimeter secured, and the first four levels are now clear. Natasha’s team is down by one Troop and four soldiers, and Steve’s lost two Troops and a soldier. They meet on the fourth level and then move to the stairway on the side of the bunker toward which Bucky’s team is working. They’re still on the fifth level, although they’re close to clearing it. Once Steve and Natasha enter the fifth level from the other side, they quickly take care of the remaining Hydra operatives between them.

Everybody’s bleeding from somewhere. Bucky’s taken several punches to the face and a knife through the flesh of his arm, and Clint’s limping and bleeding from a scalp wound. Natasha’s pretty much covered in blood, although she insists none of it’s hers. Steve has the least blood on him, but even he’s got some cuts to his cheek and a split lip. After a quick check to reassess their remaining strength in weapons and personnel, the teams split into two and descend to the sixth level from opposite sides.  
  
  
  
Sam’s team’s been hard pressed to clear the seventh level, where the incarceration cells and lab are. It’s a warren of walls and corridors, and those on this level fight more fiercely because they know they’re trapped. They’re also mostly guards, and even the scientists and technicians, being smart if not tough, are fighting to the death. Scott’s down here now, which helps, but Sam’s team’s been split up and they’re fighting in pockets now rather than one clean line pushing the Hydra personnel relentlessly in one direction.

Sam doesn’t care if they escape upwards; they’ll just meet Steve, Bucky, and Natasha. But he can’t afford to let them escape downwards, because only Marya’s team is down there, and they’ve got a critical job to do. Sam also needs to clear this level as quickly as he can, because he needs to get topside for the last phase of his assignment. He can tell Steve and the others must be getting close, because refugees from the floor above are arriving fast. He sees a scarred-faced guard take one of the Troops down, and he starts to become just a little concerned.  
  
  
  
Between Steve’s team and Bucky’s team, they clear the sixth level, but it’s a costly battle. Now Natasha admits she’s hurt, although she’s not out of the fight. Steve quickly bandages the gash in her leg. Clint’s out of arrows, and not very happy that they have to scour the level reclaiming used ones. It’s grisly and, if you ask Clint, undignified. But needs must. Steve’s winded, but not seriously hurt, and Bucky’s maybe a little more beat up, but OK. There’s not much time to regroup, because they’re getting somewhat frantic calls from the level below. Sam and Scott’s team is getting the worst of things and what’s left of the Hydra personnel is threatening to break out. The teams split up again, and descend to the seventh level. Since no more reinforcements have appeared outside, Steve asks Tony to leave everyone else out there, and come down to assist.

Bucky thinks it’s somehow poetic that the final stage of the battle should take place in this damned lab with that fucking machine that “empties” you or “wipes” you or whatever the hell you want to call it. It feels wonderful to hold this scientist down in the chair and crush his neck in his left hand. _See how you like it, bub._

As he does, though, a movement catches his eye and he gets a wallop with a metal bar of some kind on his right shoulder. The scientist, who’s all but done for anyway, is forgotten as Bucky turns to face the burliest guard he’s seen yet. Ugliest, too, with that scar where his eye and cheek should be, but that’s not what’s uppermost on Bucky’s mind. He thinks of the firearm he keeps between his shoulder blades and decides it’s time to use it, but the guard doesn’t give him time. Pretty soon, they’re hard at it hand-to-hand, and it lasts a while.

Steve’s a pretty popular choice of opponent, so he’s got his hands full punching and crushing faces with his shield, between deflecting bullets. He feels one go through his upper arm, and uses the irritation of the pain to spur him on. When Natasha acrobatically dispatches the three guys he’s fighting, Steve grins his thanks but almost immediately sees that Bucky could use a hand with the scarred goon he’s grappling with.

The Troops have arranged themselves into a pinwheel-like formation and are slowly pushing the Hydra people toward the center of the room. It’s a massive room, so there’s still a lot going on, but it helps, having it a bit more contained. It’s too close quarters to shoot, really, so it’s devolved into a lot of slugging, wrestling, and knifework. The Troops, Steve notes, are particularly fond of the latter. In their creepy, wordless way, they’re tag-teaming enemies one after another, each fight inevitably ending in a slit Hydra throat.

Steve and Sam approach Bucky and the scarred guard from opposite sides, but he sees their approach. He ducks a lethal blow from Bucky and somehow manages to get out of the triangle they form. They don’t have a chance to re-engage him, because each of them gets a new opponent almost before they realize he’s dodged them.

Bucky’s tired. He’s tossed his weapon and is using his fists and a hideous, jagged knife now, and he finds himself faced with a guard who seems to be pretty good with the one he’s using, too. After his long skirmish with the scarred dude, he’s not as fast as he wants to be. He hopes he’s as fast as he needs to be, because it’s every man for himself. The fight’s broken containment again and everyone’s slugging it out in pockets around the huge lab. Bucky misses a block and gets the guy’s knife in his flank, down low over his hip. It hurts like a motherfucker and he’s stumbling now, eyes widening as he realizes he’s going to lose this one.

Out of the corner of his eye, Bucky sees a flash of someone running across the room. What catches his attention is the slight hitch in the woman’s stride as she slows for just a fraction of a second, and then continues across to jump a guy who’s pummeling Natasha. The guy Bucky’s fighting stops moving and his eyes go blank. He takes a step toward Bucky, who reflexively pushes him away and he falls to the floor, a knife handle protruding from the base of his skull.

Bucky’s momentarily stunned by his close escape. When he sees there’s no one immediately threatening him, he takes a split second to realize that the woman running across the room was Marya, and to appreciate the kind of accuracy and strength it took to throw a knife on the run like that, hard enough to penetrate the guy’s neck. But that’s all the time he gets, because he sees that Natasha’s down and it’s the guard with the scarred face who’s just evaded a flying kick from Marya. He escapes to the stairway just as Bucky reaches them.

“Take care of Natasha,” Marya shouts in Russian, and tears off after the guard. “He’s heading for the generator!”

Bucky sweeps the room. He sees that Tony’s hot on Marya’s heels, and that the fighting’s winding down. He kneels down to lift Natasha in his arms.

“We got the rest of this. Get her outta here,” Steve calls to him, and Bucky heads toward the stairwell to carry Natasha to safety and help.

  
  


Marya has to fight her way past two Hydra assholes on the stairway, which costs her valuable time getting to the generator. She’s exhausted and desperate, and it’s fortunate Ironman’s there to blast the second one, because he’s thrown her down to the first landing and would have shot her where she lay. Tony helps Marya up, and she signals for him to go ahead of her and stop the scarred guard. He has no choice, so he runs on and she limps, gasping, after him.

Once they’d placed and activated the bomb, Marya had left the soldier who had worn it in his backpack to protect it while she helped on the level above. Now the soldier’s lying dead, shot multiple times. The guard, scowling with his one eye, has already torn the casing from the bomb and clipped the first wire. How the fuck he knows which one it is, Tony doesn’t have time to ask himself, but he sees Tony and has time to rip the second wire from its connection and jam the plyers he’s using into the mechanism before Tony’s on him.

It’s a short fight. The scar-faced guard is drained and injured, and Tony is, well… Ironman.

But the bomb is disabled.

Tony had allowed Marya to watch and kibbitz while he’d built it. OK, mostly watch. But she knows how it works as well as he does, which means they both realize simultaneously what’s happened. And what it means.

“So we re-wire it. We just take the time, and we re-wire it,” he says, decisively.

“Mr. Stark, Sam is already in the air. The helicopters are here. There’s no time. Get the teams out of here.”

“All right. No time to re-wire. So you leave now, I set it off, and I fly like hell out of here.”

“You’re going to out-fly an explosion? You’re amazing, Sir, but I don’t think that’s going to work. And when it doesn’t, who’s going to help Sam with the helicopters?”

“Well, dammit, Marya, I’m not hearing any good ideas out of you! Quit shooting mine down and figure out how we fix this.”

“We don’t. And you know that. Go. Sam needs your help with the helicopters. Get everyone out of here and I’ll take care of this.”

“You don’t know how.”

Marya gives Tony a look that, even in this moment, makes him grin. “They should’ve taken the dumb ones. But they didn’t. I got this.”

“No! I don’t accept that.”

“Sir…”

“No! I’m not going to be the one who…”

There’s a squawk of static in Tony’s headset and he hears Sam’s voice. “You know, Stark, three against one’s pretty good odds most of the time, but these bitches are gunships. You coming, or what?”

“Yeah, Sam. Yeah.”

Tony hates the smile on Marya’s face. It’s the saddest smile he’s ever seen, but it’s also accompanied by a manic gleam of hatred that tells him he already knows how this ends.

“Good bye, Sir. Good hunting.”

“No.”

“Hydra cannot survive. That is the one thing that matters here. Now get my family and your friends out of here, take care of those helicopters, and let me do my part.”

“I know there’s something profound I’m supposed to say here, but fuck if I know what it is.”

“Say good bye, and that you’ll protect my Sergeant and his Captain. Say that. And then go.”

“I will. I swear.”

“Good bye, Sir.”

“Good bye, Marya.”

It’s not hard to take out three helicopters when you’re Ironman and you’re working with the Falcon. But it’s a bitch to try to see clearly out of the mask with tears in your eyes.  
  
  
  
It’s very satisfying for Bucky to hear the muted “Whumpff” as the generator explodes, and see the ground over the bunker lift momentarily, then sink. He likes the added touch of the flaming chopper near the center, like the cherry on top of the death of Hydra. He’s tired, and he’s sore, but he feels pretty damn good right this minute. Until he looks over to where he knows Steve is helping tend to the wounded, and sees him and Tony walking over to him, along with a tall, dark-haired Troop with a big scar on his forehead. He knows two things instantly. First, that’s Marya’s brother. And second, that Marya’s dead. He knows by the looks on their faces.

All he says is, “No. Please, no.”

Tony explains in as few words as possible, which is so unlike Tony that Bucky almost feels sorry for him. Tony’s obviously expecting Bucky to come at him for leaving Marya, but Bucky doesn’t need to be told it’s not Tony’s fault. He doesn’t need her brother to explain that. He knows Marya, too. Bucky wouldn’t have been able to change her mind, either. And in her place, he’d have done the same thing.

When Bucky just turns around to face away from them, Tony looks at Steve and walks away with Marya’s brother, leaving Steve and Bucky alone. Right this moment, Steve needs to hold Bucky together as best he can, and get him into the plane. It’s over. They’ve done what they came to do, and it’s not a good idea for them to wait around to try to explain it to the Russian authorities. Besides, if there’s one thing Steve knows, it’s that grief like this is gonna take a long time for Bucky to get over. He would know. He lost Bucky once.

“Let’s go, Buck. Let’s get to the plane.”

It’s as if Bucky doesn’t hear him. “I feel like time’s stopped. I feel like I’m stuck in this moment and I don’t know how to get out.”

“I know, Bucky. I know. Just breathe. Every breath, you’re that much further away from this moment.”

“I can’t do this. I don’t think I can do this.”

“I know. And I bet you don’t wanna, either. I didn’t. When I lost you.”

“Was it this bad?” When he turns to face Steve, Bucky’s watery blue eyes carry a lost, frightened expression Steve had hoped never to see in them again. But Steve answers honestly.

“Yeah, Buck. It was.”

“Then I’m sorry, Stevie. I’m sorry I fell from the train and made you feel like this.”

“Wasn’t your fault. You know that.”

“Yeah, but she… She did this… She set off that fucking bomb… ”

“She made a choice, Bucky. Those Troops, they’re her family. She was willing to do anything to save them, and to kill Hydra. Even die. And the thing you gotta know is, she made that choice before you ever met her.”


	10. Spain

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bucky Barnes returns to the Compound to nurse his wounds after the raid on the bunker. He begins to feel better about a lot of things, including his relationship with Steve Rogers. But now the tables have turned, and it's Steve who's hanging back.  
> Bucky goes to Spain to help the Troops begin their new life after being freed from Hydra, and Steve joins him there. Finally, they can begin to look forward to the future. Whatever it is, it'll be together.

Most of the team sleeps on the way back to the Compound, but only Bucky gets on the plane, takes a seat, and sleeps until they hit the tarmac in New York. Actually, he doesn’t sleep the entire time; he wakes up a few times, blinks, remembers, and forces himself to go back to sleep again. He knows he can’t just sleep until he feels better, like he used to back in Brooklyn when he had the flu. But it’s working for now. 

He doesn’t dream, at least that he can tell. Too exhausted, maybe. 

It doesn’t escape him that, every time he wakes up, Steve’s sitting next to him. Sometimes he’s asleep, too, but mostly he’s reading or talking softly to Clint or one of the soldiers. Bucky wonders if Steve knows how much that helps. Probably. But when he can, Bucky’s going to tell him, anyway. He can’t, right now. But he can reach out and take Steve’s hand where it’s resting in Steve’s lap. So he does. Bucky closes his eyes and goes back to sleep, so he doesn’t see Steve spend the next hour staring at their clasped hands, or feel the tear that escapes to fall onto Bucky’s fingers and then roll down onto Steve’s. 

Back home, it’s morning and Bucky can’t sleep anymore. He looks around for something to catch his interest, but he doesn’t want to sit still, he’s too tired and sore to work out, and his stab wound isn’t healed enough yet to go for a run. So he just prowls the compound like a tiger in a cage, restless and melancholy. He’s glad there’s no one around. Steve and Clint are here somewhere, but Tony, Bruce, Natasha, and Sam have all stayed behind to help the Troops figure out their next steps. Scott’s gone back wherever he came from. It’s quiet, and there’s no one to be bothered by Bucky’s edginess and constant roaming.

Eventually, he unpacks his gear and works on cleaning and repairs, just for something to occupy his hands. His mind’s kind of fuzzy, which he figures is probably a good thing. In his mind, he’s replaying the operation to destroy the bunker and free the Troops, like he always does after a mission, but mostly he’s trying not to think about anything. He doesn’t want to think about Marya, and he’s not ready to think about Steve. 

The next week goes kind of like that, although every day’s a little better than the last. Tony gets back and he’s full of ideas for the Troops. The twelve who are staying together have chosen to live in Spain, in the Basque country west of Bilbao, and Tony and the other Avengers have an idea for a compound sort of like this one, if a little more self-sustaining. The first thing the Troops did was to choose names for themselves, real names, rather than their number designations, which Natasha thinks is a good sign. She’s helping them start figuring out the real world, and Sam’s helping them begin to process what they’ve been through and done in their years as Hydra captives. Bruce is working on plans for the compound, which Tony is, of course, financing. 

Steve explains to Bucky that there’s more to this than mere altruism. The Troops are still dangerous as hell, yet extremely vulnerable. It’s critical that The Avengers keep in close contact and on good terms with them so that they don’t just become the pawns of some other organization like Hydra, or worse. Besides which, they’ll be great allies if needed in a fight. 

It hurts to hear about them. Bucky wants to be there; he knows he’s their “brother”, and he _should_ be there. But he simply can’t. Tony is full of funny stories about the Troops misunderstanding common turns of phrase, and it reminds Bucky so much of Marya he feels it like a knife in his gut. He’ll get there. He knows he will, and it won’t be that long. But not today, and not next week. Nobody’s rushing him. 

Steve’s not rushing him into anything, either. For the first month, that suits Bucky fine. Their friendship was in such tatters a short time ago that it’s nice, for now, to start simply. When Bucky had first been rescued from Hydra, he’d been a mess, and Steve had simply been present, letting Bucky set the tone and speed of their reunion. After that, when Bucky was fully Bucky again, he’d tried as hard as Steve had to recapture the easy intimacy of their friendship and, for the most part, they’d succeeded for a short time. But things had fallen apart when they’d tried to rekindle their romance. The romance wasn’t the problem – God knows that wasn’t the problem – but every time he’d tried, Bucky had found himself unable to keep from pulling away, so shamed and disgusted by himself he couldn’t bear to let Steve get close. The more Steve had pushed, the further Bucky had retreated, until he’d finally decided the least painful alternative for them both was to give up on ever being able to let Steve love him again. They’d both been so frustrated that they were barely speaking even before Bucky had been abducted and met Marya.

Things are different now. They’ve been repairing their friendship since before the bunker, even when Bucky was with Marya. And when she’d told Bucky that she wasn’t coming back with him - that he was ready to be with Steve again, where he belongs - Bucky had known she was right.

It’s taken Bucky this long to get over the shock and initial grief of Marya’s death. These days, however, he can think about her and smile. It still hurts like a bitch, but the truth is, she’s been gone almost as long as she was in Bucky’s life. And Steve’s here. 

They’ve started training together again, which is what they’re doing right now. The serum lets them beat the crap out of each other if they want to, knowing everything will be pretty much healed by the next day. But Bucky’s been noticing that, lately, he wants to tackle and wrestle Steve a lot more than he wants to punch or kick him, and he knows exactly what that’s about. It’s time. He thinks Steve’s there, too, but he _won’t make a move_. Every time Bucky tries, Steve gives him this “let’s take it slow” speech, the exact opposite of what he did when Bucky really _needed_ to take it slow. It just wouldn’t be their relationship if they didn’t fuck things up ten ways to Sunday.

Steve’s just thrown Bucky over his head to land with a thud flat on his back, knocking the breath out of him for a minute. Bucky’s smiling. He would be laughing if his lungs were currently working, and Steve’s being a complete smug dick about it. When Bucky catches his breath, Steve makes the mistake of reaching down to help him up from the mat and gets his feet swept out from under him. In less than a second, Bucky’s got him pinned and his legs trapped with his own. 

“You’re such a sucker!”

“It’s called manners,” Steve huffs. “You should try it.”

“Make me.”

For the next few minutes, Steve tries to do that, but Bucky’s having it all his way. The end result is a lot of writhing around while Bucky’s lying pretty much fully along Steve which is, of course, Bucky’s entire intention. 

“All right, fine,” Steve sighs disgustedly. “You win this one.”

“Uh-huh. Now gimme my prize.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Kiss me.”

Steve’s instantly on alert. He frowns and goes all concerned. Bucky rolls his eyes. “Shit, Steve, it’s just a kiss. I’m not askin’ you to marry me.”

“I know, Buck, but I’m trying to do things right this time. Tryin’ to take it slow.”

“Fine. Kiss me slow,” Bucky grins.

Steve’s uncertain, but Bucky’s not, and he also happens to be kind of a shit. So he starts rubbing against Steve, leaning down to within a fraction of an inch of his lips, and not letting him get away. “C’mon,” he purrs. “What’re you afraid of?”

“Not you, that’s for sure.”

“Then fuckin’ kiss me, punk.”

Steve does. Bucky can feel that he’s into it, and he’s breathing hard, but he keeps the kiss gentle and almost chaste.

“What am I, your sister?” Bucky growls. “I said _kiss_ me.”

_That_ works. The next thing Bucky knows, he’s the one lying under Steve, who’s straddling him and kissing him for real. _It’s about time._

It feels glorious to have Steve’s hot mouth on his, kissing him hard and invasively, all tongue and moans. Bucky keeps trying to grind against him, and it works for a few minutes, but then Steve pulls back and rolls off of Bucky.

“What the hell? Come back here,” Bucky groans, reaching for Steve, who moves a little away.

“Can’t help it, Bucky, you’re just so damn sexy.”

“Which is a reason to come back over here, lame-brain, not move away.”

“No, but, I just don’t wanna start something we can’t finish.”

“Why the hell can’t we finish it? I _want_ to finish it. That’s kind of the point I’m makin’ here.”

“It’s too soon.”

“Buddy, it’s been too _long_.”

Bucky reaches for Steve, who stands up and moves a few steps away. He pulls his fingers through his hair, clearly troubled. “C’mon, Buck, stop it. You know I can’t resist you.”

“Then _don’t_!”

“Dammit, Bucky, this isn’t a game. I love you. I’m tryin’ to do right by you.”

Bucky sits up, sighing in frustration. “OK, OK. Look, I know that. I just… I want you, Stevie.”

“Yeah, I got that message. And I’m right there with you. But I’m playin’ for keeps here, Bucky. I pushed too hard before. I’m not makin’ that mistake again.”

“Even if it kills me?” Bucky’s voice is half-shriek, half-whine.

“If it didn’t kill me before, it won’t kill you now. Quit bein’ such a baby.”

Bucky smirks up at Steve from where he’s sitting on the mat. “I’m not gonna quit tryin’.”

“Good. Don’t. Because I’m not always gonna say no.”

As good as his word, Bucky continues to try to seduce Steve. Steve’s maintained his boundaries so far, but Bucky’s been steadily eroding them. Steve’s willing to make out, shirts optional, and he’s OK with them getting a little handsy sometimes. Bucky’s even been able to get him so worked up he agreed to mutual hand jobs a couple times, but so far he hasn’t been able to get Steve’s pants off. It’s been frustrating in the extreme, but it’s also been the right thing to do. Bucky’s never going to give Steve the satisfaction of telling him that, but he knows it’s true. 

Three months after the bunker mission, Bucky goes to Spain. Natasha’s experiences are similar to those of the Troops in many ways, and that’s already proved to be a very good thing on a number of occasions. They’re free and adapting much faster than anyone expected, but they’re still traumatized and living in an alien world. Natasha has some things she needs to take care of, and she thinks Bucky needs to be there in her absence. It’s definitely time for him to help out, and he feels ready. 

In the hangar, Steve kisses Bucky good bye and they agree they’ll see each other in two weeks, either at the Compound or in Spain, if Bucky’s still there. 

“I been thinkin’ maybe, when you get back, we could talk about makin’ some changes around here,” Steve says, holding Bucky close and whispering in his ear.

“Yeah? Like what?”

“Like, maybe… sleeping arrangements.”

Bucky pulls back, completely surprised. “You son of a bitch! You say that to me _now_ , when I’m leavin’ the country?”

“I thought it’d be good for us to, you know, think about it first.”

“Oh, I’ll be thinkin’ about it, all right. C’mere, you.”

Bucky kisses the daylights out of Steve for a full five minutes before the rest of the crew making the flight begin to be obvious about their impatience. Smiling into Steve’s eyes, he says, “I love you. I’ll see you in two weeks.” Then he wiggles his eyebrows. “Naked.”

“You really know how to ruin a romantic moment, you know that?”

Bucky hugs Steve again, chuckling, and Steve whispers, “I love you, Buck.”

Marya’s brother, now called Dmitriy, meets the Quinjet with a truck, to take Bucky and the others, and the supplies they’ve brought, back to where the Troops are building their Compound. They won’t find it without an escort, and even if they did, they wouldn’t make it past the perimeter that’s been set up. 

Dmitriy and Bucky introduce themselves, never actually having spoken before. It’s a solemn moment when they first stand in front of one another. It’s a little jarring when Dmitriy speaks Spanish; Bucky had just assumed he’d speak Russian. When he asks about it, Dmitriy shrugs and says they speak the local languages for everyday. They’ll stand out less, and there’s something symbolic about choosing to live their new life in a language other than Russian. 

Bucky nods, and mentions that he’s been on missions in this part of Spain and speaks Basque in addition to Spanish. Dmitriy smiles. “I thought you might. You are our brother, after all.”

“I haven’t been much of a brother up to now,” Bucky admits, chagrined. “But I’m here now.”

“Sergeant, I never had the chance to talk to Marya about you and her. There was no time. But I’ve been told enough to appreciate the fact that you mourn her. I understand and, if it makes any sense, I’m thankful that you care that much.”

“I do. I loved her, Dmitriy.”

“Then we have that in common, along with everything else.” 

Bucky doesn’t quite understand why the hard hug he and Dmitriy share feels so healing, maybe something about knowing that Dmitriy feels Marya’s loss as much as Bucky does. But he knows from that moment that he wants to make a friend of Dmitriy.

“You can call me Bucky, you know.” 

“No, Sergeant,” Dmitriy says with a grin he doesn’t even try to hide. “I can’t.”

That gets a belly laugh from Bucky, even though Dmitriy’s resemblance to his sister when he says it hurts like hell. He supposes he better strap in for a lot of that while he’s here.

As promised, when Bucky’s been in Spain for two weeks, Steve comes to the Compound for a few days. Bucky’s part of Dmitriy’s work crew framing the first building of the Troops’ Compound, now that they’ve dug and poured the foundation, so he can’t be there to welcome Steve. He’s more than a little aware of what time Steve’s arriving, though, and he sees the truck arrive. 

Dmitriy has proven to be every bit the smartass Marya was, and insists that the crew can’t do without Bucky until they get done with the section they’re working on and break for lunch. His shit-eating grin tells Bucky he’s well aware of the situation, but he refuses to relent. As they work, Bucky keeps expecting to see Steve come walking out of the grove of trees where the Troops are currently housed in a large grouping of yurts, but he doesn’t. By the time noon arrives, Bucky’s pretty much bordering on blue balls and about ready to give Dmitriy a demonstration of what his left arm can do. Finally, he hears Dmitriy give a shrill, melodic whistle and jumps, rolling as he lands, from the building’s ridgepole to the ground. As he strides rapidly toward the yurts, removing his toolbelt as he goes, he hears Dmitriy’s deep laugh follow him.

Steve’s not in Bucky’s small yurt when he tears the door open, but to Bucky’s utter joy, he sees that Steve’s dropped his bag on the end of the bed. Bucky feels another jolt of arousal as he realizes that means Steve’s staying here. With him.

As he stalks over toward the biggest yurt, where he thinks Steve must be, Bucky belatedly realizes that he was so anxious to see him that he’s forgotten to put a shirt on or wash up. He can tell that a lot of his hair’s pulled free of the elastic at the back of his neck, because some of it is in his eyes. But he immediately forgets again when he finds Steve deep in conference with Bruce and Sam, going over blueprints and details of the water system they’re building. Once Bucky sees Steve, he doesn’t see anything else. He only dimly realizes that Steve’s practically drooling, staring at Bucky’s sweaty, dirty bare chest and flushed face.

They just stare at each other long enough for Sam to roll his eyes and groan disgustedly. “For fuck’s sake, you guys, I’m gonna get pregnant if you keep lookin’ at each other like that. Go be alone, and remember yurts have fabric walls. _Damn_.”

Bruce blushes and looks down at the table covered with blueprints, drawings, and plans.

Bucky and Steve are in each other’s arms instantly, and they hold one another tightly for so long that, when they let go, they realize that Bruce and Sam have left the yurt without their realizing it. Their mouths meet hungrily, greedily, and that takes a long time, too.

“I saw your stuff on my bed. You stayin’ with me?” When Steve opens his mouth to answer, Bucky says quickly, “And you should know that the only answer I’m gonna accept is yes.”

“Yes,” Steve smiles widely.

It’s hard for Bucky to kiss Steve the way he wants when he’s smiling so much, but he’s also suddenly way too horny to kiss much, anyway, without ending up fucking Steve right here on the floor of Bruce’s office. 

“I made us a picnic,” Bucky says breathlessly.

“Really? _That’s_ what you wanna do right now?”

“Sam’s right. Yurts have fabric walls. And it’s beautiful here. There’s a hill about a mile away with a clearing. Sunshine, blanket on the grass… You… Me…”

“Fuck,” Steve gasps. “Sign me the hell up.”

They practically run to pick up the packed picnic supplies Bucky’s stashed just inside the door of his yurt and get to the clearing. Steve doesn’t spend much time smoothing out the blanket, just shakes it out in front of him and then pulls Bucky down onto it. Bucky doesn’t mean to literally tear Steve’s shirt off, but he also doesn’t give it a second thought when it happens. Feeling Steve’s bare chest against his, the solidity of his muscular body in his arms, the heat and need in his kisses, is like air to Bucky. He doesn’t know how he’s going to let go long enough to get Steve’s jeans off.

“I love you. I love you so much, Stevie.”

“I love you, too, Buck. You’re _mine_.”

“Yeah. Fuck, yeah, I’m yours. Always been yours.”

As it turns out, Steve’s not able to let Bucky go any more than Bucky can let go of Steve. They end up clasping desperately at one another, mouths open to each other and tongues stroking each other when they remember, grinding painfully hard cocks together until they both come, hissing filthy praise and their love for each other.

“Jeez, Buck, we haven’t done that since we were seventeen.”

“’Bout time, then,” is all Bucky has to say between kisses down Steve’s jawline.

“We’re gonna be a sight walking back into the Compound.”

“There’s a creek,” Bucky mutters, moving lower to take a nipple into his still-greedy mouth.

“ _Fuck_.”

At long last, after months of hot but frustrating make-out sessions and heavy petting, Bucky pulls Steve’s jeans off and takes all of him in for the first time. The sight is enough to make Bucky’s own jeans uncomfortable again, and he quickly peels them off. Steve’s already hard again, too, and he makes a sound that’s almost a whimper when he sees Bucky reach into the picnic hamper and pull out a bottle of lube. 

“Planned this all along, huh?”

Bucky snorts. “Sweetheart, I’ve been thinkin’ about fucking you pretty much nonstop for the last two weeks. Damn straight I planned this.”

Steve cries out as Bucky softly touches his hole wit warm, slippery fingers. “I ever tell you how fucking sexy you are?”

Bucky’s smile is almost too happy to be the predatory leer he’s going for. “Tell me now, while I make all those dirty thoughts come true.”

“I love you,” Steve begins, his words broken and breath hitching as Bucky begins to lick lightly at the head of his cock. “You’re so gorgeous. I saw you in Bruce’s yurt just now and I just about lost it right there- oh, shit, Bucky! Fuck, your mouth is a lethal weapon…”

Bucky chuckles and begins a slow but definite rhythm, sliding his finger in and out of Steve while he continues teasing him with his tongue. Steve’s moving his pelvis, letting Bucky know how fast to go. “So fuckin’ good,” Bucky murmurs, sliding another finger into Steve as he relents and takes Steve’s cock into his mouth.

Steve’s shout of pleasure is a definite reason to be a mile away from the closest other people. 

“Oh, fuck, Bucky… You feel so good. I’ve wanted you for so long. I… Oh…”

“You gonna come, Sweetheart? Yeah, come for me. Oh, I would love that…”

Bucky barely gets the words out before Steve’s fucking into his mouth and screaming – there’s no other word for the sound he’s making – as he shoots down Bucky’s throat. Bucky could easily come from watching that, just rubbing against the blanket on the soft grass, but he wants to be inside Steve when he comes next. 

By the time Steve’s starting to relax a little, Bucky’s got him fully ready and, although he just came, Steve’s still hard. _Gotta love that serum._

“Fuck me, Buck. Please, Baby, I need to feel you – us together – it’s been so fucking long…”

Bucky feels like he’s been waiting for this moment forever, and when he raises up on his knees, lifting Steve’s thighs to give himself a little more room, it feels like here, pushing his cock gently into Steve, is the place he’s always supposed to have been. He’s surprised to feel tears burn at the back of his eyes. Despite the awkward stretch it takes, he leans over and kisses Steve’s lips, buried completely in the man he loves.

“Stevie…”

“Ungh…”

“I’m yours. Always.”

“Mine.”

“Yours. And you’re mine.”

He has to grit his teeth a little, but he wants to enjoy this moment, stroke after stroke, for as long as he can. The sun is warm on his back, and there’s a sweet smell of green in the air, and Steve looks absolutely perfect lying beneath him, eyes boring into his, glowing with exertion and pleasure. When he comes, Bucky doesn’t shout. He whispers, breathing hard, “I love you, Steve. I love you. I’m yours. I’m yours…”

It’s dusk before they wander back into the Compound, holding hands and smiling quietly. When they enter Bucky’s yurt, they see that someone has laid out supper for them on the table. Bucky knows they’re welcome at the communal evening meal, which makes this gift all the more thoughtful, especially because there’s nothing Bucky and Steve want more right now than to be alone together. They can hear voices outside, and see the warm, flickering light of a few campfires, but it’s just a comforting backdrop for the small, blissed-out world inside the yurt where only the two of them exist.

One of the reasons Steve’s at the Compound is that they are going to finish the mop-up of their destruction of Hydra. On the day they’d taken the bunker, the team had purposely allowed Hydra the opportunity to call for help, to see who would answer. Sam and Tony had destroyed the three helicopters that responded and, with support from Natasha, the Troops had traced them to a group The Avengers hadn’t known existed. The Troops learned all they could about them. It was as bad as they’d feared, and not something they could allow to grow. 

With the Troops, Steve and Bucky spend a few days destroying the group and its facility. Bucky sees what Steve meant when they’d discussed this earlier. The Troops are far too dangerous and naïve to be abandoned to their own devices, and they’re invaluable allies. Besides caring deeply what happens to them, Bucky sees the wisdom of making sure their little community succeeds, and that The Avengers are the foundation for that success.

It’s an opportunity for Bucky to bond further with Dmitriy, and for Steve to get to know him. Sitting around a fire back at the Compound the night they return from the raid, the three get as drunk as supersoldiers can, mild and temporary as alcohol’s affects on them are. They speak English, because the U.S. Army has never had Hydra’s focus on languages. Steve could learn them ridiculously easily, as they all can, but he hasn’t bothered much. They talk about a lot of things, enjoying each other’s company and making informal plans for the future. 

“I gotta ask, Dmitriy, about that scar on your face,” Steve says, slurring his words just a little. “How’s someone who got the serum develop a scar? I never do. Bucky doesn’t.”

“We don’t, either,” Dmitriy answers. “I think I must have had this before the serum. I don’t ever remember not having it.”

Bucky asks, “Are you guys gonna work on that? Your memories, I mean? Bruce has some theories.” 

“We already are. More with Sam than Bruce, though. Nobody’s very comfortable with the idea of doctors, period, and we’ve had about enough of people playing with our minds.”

“Amen to that, Brother,” Bucky mutters, and downs the rest of the vodka he’s drinking.

“We’re more focused on the future. As you know, we don’t really know what the serum does long-term. We want to build a life here, which means we need to know some basics about what we can expect. Our life spans, whether we could ever have children, those kinds of things. That’s what Bruce is working on, when he’s not designing septic systems.”

They enjoy a quiet laugh about that.

“And you two? It’s not much of a secret that you’re having some sort of reunion, and it’s definitely not a secret what kind.” Dmitriy smirks. “What’s in your future?”

Steve looks at Bucky like he’s pretty much perfect and Bucky finds himself expecting a twinge of pain and shame that doesn’t come. 

“Whatever it is,” he says, squeezing Steve’s hand and looking into his too-blue eyes, “It’ll be together.”


	11. The Switch

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve has left the present. To be precise, Steve has left _Bucky_ in the present. And Bucky is most emphatically _not_ OK.  
> He's not Bucky anymore. Steve has broken him far more completely than Hydra ever did.  
> He can't stop thinking about something Tony Stark said in a drunken stupor one night. About Marya, and what really happened in that bunker just before it, and she, blew up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, shit. I thought I had completed this fic. Apparently, it wasn’t finished with _me_. **This is a damned Endgame fix-it, and no mistake.** Maybe a little bit of an Others Like Me fix-it, as well. 
> 
> ***Trigger warnings: Suicidal ideation. Not explicit and not acted upon. Just, "Meh, I'm fucking miserable so if this kills me, whatevs."***
> 
>  **PLEASE COMMENT.** PLEASE. It's lonely out here in the ether.

There’s really no reason why Bucky is afraid. It’s not like he cares if it doesn’t work. If it blasts him into atoms, so be it. Still, his gut is clenching and he has sweat on his upper lip as he looks around him one last time. Tony’s lab looks much as it always did, even though Tony has been gone for over two years. Pepper has never set foot on the grounds of the Avengers compound since Tony’s death. She’s certainly never expressed any interest in the things in this lab. Only Bucky comes in here now. Peter and the new guys have their own labs.

Bucky blows out a disgusted breath and shakes his head. _Those labs._ Only Peter’s has any life in it at all, and even his doesn’t come close to the sheer chaotic joy this place had when Tony was alive and working in here. The reckless glee that kept him up for days on end, obsessively tinkering, relentlessly unsatisfied until he’d achieved the jaw-droppingly impossible. The new labs are sterile, boring, depressing as fuck. Bruce’s lab, of course, has always been that way. 

He never goes into any of the labs, even Bruce’s, although they’ve all tried at various times to interest him in their work.

Truth is, Bucky isn’t interested in much of anything now. He sure as shit isn’t interested in being here anymore. Hasn’t been since…

_Just say it, asshole. He did it, whether you say it or not._

Since Steve left. There. He said it. Since Steve motherfucking unilaterally decided they’d reached the end of the line. It still hurts like hell to even think that phrase, not to mention what it feels like to think of Steve himself.

And it hasn’t gotten better. Maybe it’s gotten familiar, he supposes, like the constant, screaming pain in his shoulder had gotten familiar when he’d had his old Hydra arm. But not better. Bucky still can’t take a breath without missing Steve. For a while, he’d actually longed for the days when he couldn’t think or feel at all. 

Because yeah, Bucky is grieving. His heart is shredded and he’s lonely beyond enduring, he dreams of Steve and wakes up to experience anew the knowledge that Steve is gone and Bucky will never see him again. Never hear his voice. Never roll over in the night to find that warmth, or breathe in that scent that instantly made the world go soft, or feel that familiar body that is the only right shape. 

His throat still seizes up a hundred times a day, when he sees something that reminds him of Steve or hears someone say something Steve used to say. He still has those fucking vicious moments when he hears a sound and thinks, “Oh, that’s Steve,” only to realize in the next second that it isn’t Steve. It can’t be Steve. It will never be Steve. And every single time, it’s like losing Steve all over again.

And then he remembers why. He remembers that Steve chose this. _Did_ this to him, with his eyes wide open and full knowledge of what it would do to Bucky. Steve fucking _sentenced_ him to this. Every single “I love you” and every cursed “I’m with you ‘til the end of the line” he uttered was an empty, traitorous, motherfucking lie. 

That’s when Bucky screams and rages, throws things and punches walls and tries his best to stomp his love for Steve out of existence any way he can. He’s destroyed so many apartments and so much training equipment that now they just order new stuff on a schedule, like groceries. The worst part is, it never helps. Nothing does.

He’d tried sex, but he found out pretty quickly that men aren’t even an option anymore. He tries very hard to forget how he learned _that_. The only good thing was that it had been Dmitriy’s bed he’d been in when the familiarity of holding a man in his arms had hit him with every bit of the force of Tony’s repulsor as it blasted off his arm. He’d begun to weep, overcome by the memory of how Steve had made him feel. Back when he’d believed Steve loved him. Hell, back when he’d believed Steve even gave a _damn_ about him. 

Dmitriy had held him without question, without comment other than soft reassurance and encouragement to just let go. Dmitriy hadn’t been afraid of his grief, had told him to scream and cry - hell, howl at the damn moon if he needed to - Dmitriy would stay with him as long as it took while he did. Which had, of course, reminded Bucky of Marya, who had done the same thing for him once. After that, Bucky had choked on his sobs, fighting to breathe, grieving not only Steve, but Marya, as well. 

Women had helped, a little, for a while. He could forget sometimes, when he was flirting and angling to get them in bed, and while he was fucking them. But that was all he wanted and, inevitably, they’d either develop damn _feelings_ or, worse, they’d want to motherfucking _talk_. Bucky most emphatically does not want to talk. He doesn’t even want to think. So he stopped bothering with trying to drown himself in sex. The temporary anesthesia isn’t worth the price.

These days, Bucky has become cold and silent. Even when he does speak, he’s morose and bitter. Missions and fights hold no interest for him anymore, beyond a very slight lightening of his anguish brought on by the idea that maybe he’ll die. 

Which he made the mistake of telling Bruce one night.

That had been the beginning of the end. Bruce, of course, couldn’t let that go, and asked Sam to step in, given Sam’s long experience with traumatized warriors. Bucky and Sam, never close, had spent a few tense, mostly silent hours together before Bucky had refused to even try anymore. Sam had insisted on one more attempt, they’d gotten into a shouting match, and Bucky had hidden – there was no more mature word for it, if he was being honest – here in Tony’s lab.

Bucky had pulled up one of Tony’s virtual screens, the ones that had fascinated him once upon a time, to decide where in the world he was going. He could no longer kid himself that staying with the Avengers was an option. 

And that’s when he’d remembered what Tony had told him. About Marya. About the switch.

*********

Tony had not done well with the fact that he had been the one to allow Marya to sacrifice her own life to destroy the remnants of Hydra. Tony, of course, was a bubbling cauldron of messed-up shit to begin with, and he’d added a fuckton of guilt over Marya’s death to the toxic brew in his head. One night, out of his mind with booze and torment, he’d called Bucky at some insane hour and begged him drunkenly to come to his lab.

Bucky had left the warmth of Steve’s body for one reason only: to try to get Tony out of the lab and into bed. For Tony’s sake, but more than that, for Pepper’s, since their merry-go-round of a romance seemed to be on an up cycle. When he’d found Tony, he was pretty much incapable of walking, but he could still talk, since the only thing capable of shutting Tony up was complete loss of consciousness.

“See this?” Tony had asked, holding up a small silver box with strangely smooth, rounded edges and a toggle switch on top. “This is how she did it. This is why there was no body.”

Bucky instinctively recoiled from Tony’s words, and was not gentle as he snatched the box from his hands and slammed it down on a workbench. “Get your ass up, Stark, I’m taking you to bed.”

“How’s Cap gonna feel about that?” Tony leered.

“Yeah. Like you’d be any use to me in this condition. Fucking stand, Stark, because I _will_ carry you if you don’t.”

“No, Barnes, you need to hear this! You’ll be happy about it!”

Bucky didn’t listen further, simply leaned over and roughly bundled Tony up, tossing him over his shoulder. “You puke on me and I swear…”

“She might not be dead! I gave her one of these – C’mon, Barnes, you gotta _listen_ to me! We never found it, and even if her body would’ve been vaporized in the explosion, the switch would still have been there! I think it must have worked!”

Bucky ignored Tony as best he could, not letting him down until he threw him bodily onto one of the leather couches in the great room of his penthouse. “Go to sleep, you moron. I’ll come check on Pepper in the morning, see if she needs help disposing of your corpse.”

“Listen to me!”

“NO!” Bucky shouted as he entered the still-open elevator and pushed the button. Tony was still yelling after him when the doors closed, mercifully cutting him off. Bucky knew from experience that Tony would pass out within a few minutes. 

*********

They never spoke about it again. Bucky doubts Tony even remembered they’d ever talked about it once, and he sure as hell hadn’t brought it up. But that doesn’t mean he forgot. And once Tony was killed, and Steve… _Damn it, Barnes, once Steve fucking left you…_ Well, the idea was one of the few that didn’t burn like fire to contemplate. 

Because he’s missed Marya. He’s never gotten over the pain it causes to remember her when he hears one of the Troops misunderstand a turn of phrase, or fumble to use a new bit of slang correctly. Bucky and Dmitriy are closer even than their initial connection had promised, which has always been a double-edged sword because of how much Dmitriy reminds Bucky of his sister. Even when Bucky had eventually forced himself to try to move forward with his life after Steve left, and begun to explore his mutual attraction with Dmitriy, there had been an element of recapturing a bit of his relationship with Marya. 

It’s nice to think about what it would be like to see her again, to hear her make fun of him, and laugh, and ask her simple questions about very complex things. It eases something in him to remember her deep, uncomplicated, entirely unselfish love for him. Steve’s love had been life to him, but it had never been uncomplicated. _And_ , Bucky’s scarred, bitter heart always adds to that thought, _it sure as shit was never unselfish. Because it was fucking never real._

*********

It was still a few weeks after his fight with Sam before Bucky had actually done anything besides hold the switch in his hand and imagine. He imagined what it would be like if there was a chance in hell it could actually work, but he also imagined what those last moments between Tony and Marya must have been like. 

_The bomb was disabled. Because Marya had watched Tony build it, she knew how it worked as well as he did. Either one of them could have stayed behind to set it off. But they made the only possible choice, because Ironman was needed to help the Falcon take out the helicopters that threatened the team’s escape._

_“There’s no time,” Marya said. “Get the teams out of here.”_

_Tony argued, of course, and Marya insisted. Of course._

Tony told Bucky many times what Marya said then.

_“Hydra cannot survive. That is the one thing that matters here. Now get my family and your friends out of here, take care of those helicopters, and let me do my part.”_

And how Tony had responded. 

_“I know there’s something profound I’m supposed to say here, but fuck if I know what it is.”_

_“Say good bye, and that you’ll protect my Sergeant and his Captain. Say that. And then go.”_

_“I will. I swear.”_

_“Good bye, Sir.”_

Tony never told him the last part. He’d tried, that one drunken night, but Bucky had refused to listen. He can imagine it, though. 

_“No. Marya, no.”_

_“Sir-“_

_“Listen to me!” Tony pulled the switch from somewhere and handed it to Marya._

_“You can run the wires through the broken relay.” Tony pointed._

_“That won’t –“_

_“I know, all right? I know it won’t stop the blast. But it’ll delay it until the relay shorts out. Which it will. So you do it, do you hear me? You do it and then you hit this switch. And if there’s a God, which we do not have time to debate right now, you live. This device is sort of a safety net. I never really liked the idea of checking out, and after the Chitauri, well… I’ve been working on this. It should take you to safety. But…”_

_“Safety? Where? What-“_

_Sam’s even more insistent voice had come over the comms, using some colorful language to encourage Tony to_ hurry, you asshole. _“I can’t promise, Marya. It’s never been tested. But it could take you to an alternate universe.”_

_“A… Sir, are you fucking with me? Right_ now?” 

_“Just do it, Marya. And if it doesn’t work, I’m sorrier than I can ever say. But if it does, wherever you end up, find me. Find me and explain to me what happened. Show this to me, and I’ll believe you. I think any version of me will recognize my own work, and I’ll sure as shit be crazy enough to believe you.”_

_They said goodbye one more time, hugged hard while Marya wished Tony good hunting, and that was that._

Bucky remembers standing outside and watching the earth rise and then sink lower after the _whuumph_ of the underground explosion. 

Whether or not she’d believed him, or believed it would work, Marya was the most hopeful person Bucky had ever met. He knows she would have wired the explosives through the ruined relay and then toggled the switch. Just in case. And the truth was, the Troops had never found anything like that switch in the ruins of the Hydra bunker when they’d combed through everything to be sure it was all destroyed beyond recall.

So it was possible. Or, at least, it wasn’t _im_ possible.

*****

At first, when Bucky had waved Friday to life and asked for the files, he’d been half mocking himself for even thinking there could possibly be anything to it. Time travel was hard enough to swallow, even after Steve had used it to rip his fucking guts out. Alternate _universes_? Come on.

But when Friday had actually pulled up something, he’d leaned forward and started to read. And when he did, he’d next looked up to realize it was two hours later and he hadn’t moved. On the heels of that realization had come the blinding discovery that, in those two hours, he hadn’t _hurt_ , either. Hadn’t thought of Steve. Hadn’t thought of anything other than the esoteric brilliance of Tony Stark’s mind and the foreign sort of _sense_ it all made. Underneath that, if there was any emotion at all, it was a tiny, quiet something that Bucky could no longer recognize as hope. 

Picking up a screwdriver and actually opening up the switch had been another watershed. It meant that some part of him was actually considering the insane possibility that Tony could have been right. That he had actually created a device that could transport Bucky to another universe. One where Marya - _his_ Marya, not just an alternate version – was alive and well.

Once he’d rebuilt the switch, with the modifications Tony had come up with after Marya’s… death, or escape, or whatever, it had been another few weeks before he’d decided how he would go about using it. Did he say goodbye, risking that they’d try to stop him? Did he leave without a word, as hurtful as that might be to anyone who still gave a shit? In the end, he’d decided to send a message to Dmitriy. The one person who will grieve him, and who Bucky knows can come to support what he’s about to do. To everyone else, he’ll either disappear without a trace, in which case they’ll assume he’s gone to ground like they all expect him to, anyway, or his fried corpse will tell them he died of dumbassery the way Tony Stark should have done a million times in this lab. Neither is fair to those he’s leaving behind, but either way works for him. Bucky Barnes can no longer believe in fair.

*********

Standing in the silent lab, Bucky can see and hear Tony as though he was still on the couch, drunk and agitated. He wishes, not for anything resembling the first time, that Tony was here now. Mostly because he thinks Tony might understand. 

Bruce won’t. Sam sure as hell won’t. Peter is still too young to understand completely, but given how devastated he’d been by Tony’s death, he might begin to, in time. Dmitriy will help him with that. No one else will care. 

Bucky looks down at the switch in his hand. Did he read Tony’s notes correctly? Understand the diagrams well enough? It would be just his luck that this piece of shit had actually worked for Marya, but that Bucky’s fucked up trying to recreate it. But who cares? If that’s the case, he’ll be dead, and she will never know. 

“Well,” he sighs out loud. “Here I go. I don’t hate you, Steve. I gotta do this because I _love_ you. I hope, if you ever know, you can see that.”

It seems right that his last thought in this universe is of Steve. He closes his eyes and flips the switch.


	12. New York

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bucky wakes up in Singapore, very injured. Then he goes to New York and finds the Avengers.

It’s easily the worst experience Bucky’s ever had. It hurts like hell, for one thing, and for another, he feels like he’s in the spin cycle of a wash machine for what seems like hours. Then, at the end, it’s like getting spit out through a ring of fire and falling a few stories to land with a sickening series of snaps and cracks. His left arm is useless and he can’t feel it, which is probably good since it appears to be smoking. He takes inventory of his injuries. Left lower leg, definitely broken. Fairly significant head injury. Right wrist sprained, probably not broken, but elbow dislocated. So no meaningful use of either arm. And definitely some serious internal injuries. 

_Fucking hell_.

So apparently he didn’t die, but he ain’t doing too good, either. He makes a mental note that, whenever he does die, he needs to find Tony Stark and kick the shit out of him. 

The pressing question is, what the hell happened? Where is he? Of all the possible outcomes of flipping that damn switch, it never occurred to him that he might end up beat to shit. Dead, sure. But if he’s alive with all these injuries, and still in the Avengers Compound in his own universe, Bucky is going to have to invent a new language made up entirely of pissed off, offensive words. 

But he isn’t still in the Avengers Compound, and he isn’t in his own universe. He knows this because when he opens his eyes, he’s looking at the Marina Bay Sands resort in Singapore. Or what’s left of it. The iconic three 57-story towers, which used to be topped by a huge, ship-shaped platform lined with trees and featuring pools, shops, and restaurants, are in ruins. 

In Bucky’s universe, that would’ve made the news. 

The North tower is half-destroyed, its top now a jagged stump. The central tower is simply gone. And the South tower, while mostly still present, leans ominously toward the space where the central tower once stood. Chunks of the platform, which had been a massive building in itself, can be seen tumbled among the debris of the towers. But the largest piece, at least five hundred feet long, is what had formerly been the “prow” of the ship. This part of the platform had cantilevered 220 feet off the edge of the North tower. Now, the point of the “prow” is embedded in the ground to the side of that tower, and the rest of the section leans crazily against the tower’s remains. 

Bucky can’t imagine what caused that. Especially when he looks behind him at the skyscrapers of the city, and sees that they are all intact. But he doesn’t have much time to ponder the mystery, because he hears the unmistakable sound of emergency vehicles approaching. He doesn’t bother to worry about what will happen when they reach him, because there’s not a fucking thing he can do about it. Not in this condition. He closes his eyes and waits. 

He must pass out for at least a few minutes, because when he comes to, there is a pleasant Asian face inches from his, yelling at him in English. Although Bucky speaks all four of the most widely-spoken languages in Singapore, it makes sense that, with his Western features, they’d start with English. For some reason - maybe just to be a dick, he’s not sure – Bucky answers in Malay. 

The man, who is a cop, rears back in surprise at this _bule_ , with his flawless accent. _Huh. Must have been raised here._ He doesn’t waste time trying to figure it out, though, because the guy is clearly badly hurt. He tells Bucky that an ambulance is minutes away, and then asks him what happened. 

“Hit by a car,” Bucky lies, figuring the cop won’t question such a run-of-the-mill explanation, and he doesn’t. Given the extent of his injuries, Bucky is spared any further questions beyond his name. He barely coughs out “James,” and the cop is satisfied with that, since it’s so obviously difficult for Bucky to talk. He lets himself pass out again until the ambulance arrives, because that’s when the trouble will start. As soon as the paramedics start to examine him and find his metal arm, things will get interesting. 

He’s not wrong. He regains consciousness when the excited shrieks start and they begin jerking his arm around. The good news is, the arm must be resetting itself, because he feels it. The bad news is, he feels it. He indulges in a Tony Stark-worthy eyeroll before he opens his eyes. That distracts the cops and paramedics for a moment as they remember he’s an actual person, who is significantly fucked up at the moment. 

“What is this?” One of the cops asks, once again yanking at his metal arm. Bucky yanks it away from him, noting that he can now move it, and it’s no longer smoking. _Yay, Wakanda._

“Research…” Bucky gasps, deliberately exaggerating his difficulty speaking, although not by much, because yeah. He feels like he’s been danced on by horses. Maybe buffalo. “Experiment. Prototype.” 

The paramedics, too, are shocked by his Malay. They’re not satisfied with his answer about his arm – nobody makes a prosthesis like that – but now that they’ve at least gotten _some_ explanation out of him, they’re content to shove the cops out of the way and stake their primary claim to their patient. Like it always goes when Bucky finds himself in this situation. 

Bucky has been hurt many, many times before. He knows the drill. It’s his first time in a Singaporean hospital, but that’s about all that’s new for him. He’s immensely relieved when they put his dislocated elbow back in place; it hurts like a motherfucker, but once it’s over, he’s fine. Which is a low bar when you’re the Winter Soldier, but he detests hospitals and doctors. For seventy years’ worth of reasons. All he needs now is for them to set and cast his leg, and he’ll be on his way. Not that they’ll be willing to _let_ him leave, but he’s not planning to ask for permission. 

They get pretty excited about the damage to his internal organs. He doesn’t. None of it is anything he hasn’t had before, and he knows he’ll heal without the emergency surgery they’re suddenly shouting about. When he refuses it, there’s a stunned, disbelieving silence before the doctor who appears to be in charge explains, in language suitable for a toddler, that he will die without it. 

_No, buddy, I actually won’t. Never did before, and I’ve been busted up way worse than this. Hydra never bothered with surgery, and it’s probably the only point on which we ever agreed._

Bucky says no again, and the doctor switches to amusingly dumbed-down English to say the same things. Another refusal. It’s all Bucky can do not to laugh when the poor guy tries Chinese. So Bucky politely and firmly refuses in Chinese, too. He takes pity on the doctor and tells him it’s a religious thing, and that seems to at least shut him up, although it’s clear he’s frustrated with this idiot who thinks God is going to sew up the big-ass laceration in his liver. 

Bucky does agree to a hefty slug of morphine, and enjoys a nice nap while they finally set and cast his leg. The Trauma Unit staff are a little bummed that they’re not going to get to learn more about his arm, which they’re all drooling over. But since he’s going to die anyway, they ship him up to a regular room - not even ICU, because why waste the bed on a walking corpse? That’s good news for Bucky, because it means he gets to sleep through the night. Early the next morning, by the time the small herd of attending and resident doctors come to do their rounds on him, he’s already been gone for an hour. 

He doesn’t have any money, but he’s Bucky Barnes. He doesn’t like to steal, but his life sometimes makes it unavoidable. He always just hopes his mother can’t look down from Heaven and see him. Half an hour after he wheels himself out of the hospital in a stolen wheelchair, he’s also stolen enough Singapore dollars to check into a mid-range hotel. For this, he uses his fake American passport and credit card, although he could also have chosen the French, Russian, or South African ones he’s brought. He’s made the right choice, too, because as expected, the staff definitely gives him and his wheelchair some looks. He goes Ugly American and the front desk staff speed things up, after which it takes no time for him to be wheeled into his room by a porter just to get his annoying ass out of sight of other guests. Works every time. He tips the porter handsomely and then collapses onto the bed. 

For the next week, he sleeps almost continuously and lives on room service. Thanks to his performance on check-in and his generous tips, he’s left alone unless he wants something. Hydra used to extract him from wherever he was when he completed a mission, no matter what shape he was in, but he’s recuperated this way before, too. The first and most difficult time was after the Battle of the Triskelion, but there have been others. By now, he doesn’t really have to think too hard to plan his next steps. 

In fact, he hasn’t really thought much about anything since he arrived here. He’s in a strange sort of limbo, just existing. It’s maybe a little bit too much like being the Winter Soldier, but it’s more like other times, after that, but before he ended up in Bucharest. There was no Steve then. At that time, he’d begun to have momentary flashes of memory, but he hadn’t yet begun to try in earnest to remember. Hadn’t been to the Smithsonian. Hadn’t started his notebook. He holds onto that association, paying attention to those similarities because he hadn’t felt anything then, and he doesn’t want to feel anything now. 

Steve, _his_ Steve, has never existed in this universe. There is probably a Steve Rogers, and Bucky will probably have to find him in order to find Marya, but he isn’t _Bucky’s_ Steve. Bucky’s Steve is irretrievably gone, in another time and, now, in another universe. Somehow, that makes Bucky feel safer. Gives his heart permission to take a few days off from grieving the son of a bitch. 

When he’s healed enough, he orders a steak from room service and uses the knife to cut the cast from his leg. No easy task, that, but he’s had to do it before. He makes a note to steal a Ka-bar at the first opportunity. He had agonized over the decision whether to be armed when he flipped the switch. With no idea where he might land if it worked, he couldn’t know whether it would be necessary to defend himself, or an unnecessary complication to have to explain a bunch of weapons. As it turned out, he had guessed correctly. But now he wants some motherfucking knives. And a gun or four. 

At the moment, he does not need the complications that would come with trying to purchase weapons legally in Singapore with foreign documents. _Really_ foreign, he reminds himself, with the first grin he’s cracked in this new universe. 

He finds himself a cautiously excited, now that he’s pretty much healed. During his week of recovery, he realized that, since he is here, that means there’s a good chance that Marya is alive and here, too. With any luck, he’ll be seeing her again soon. 

That thought makes him feel a strange, pleasant but almost scary, sensation that he knows he’s felt before, but can’t put a name to. Although Bucky’s forgotten hope, Steve apparently didn’t completely destroy his capacity for it when he left Bucky for the past and Peggy Carter. He just crushed it so badly that it stayed dead until now. 

He needs some more money. That means he needs to go to the Orchard Road area. Bucky isn’t going to steal from any of the real Singaporeans, the ones who work for a living. But he doesn’t need to. Singapore being an over-the-top shopping mecca, he can have his pick of targets who have more money that he needs in the cushions of their couches. Smug, self-congratulatory tourists and bored trophy wives, none of whom ever worry about pickpockets. And none of whom ever consider, when they realize they’ve been robbed, that the robber might have been the charming, handsome, blue-eyed man they’d briefly chatted with. 

Bucky has some guesses as to why Hydra taught him that particular skill, but he’ll never know for sure. What he does know is that he’s a master at it. Within three hours, he’s accumulated more cash than he really expects to need. The hardest part is disengaging himself from his targets once he’s lifted their wallets. Steve is right, he thinks. He really is too charming for his own good. 

Then again, fuck Steve. 

Bucky hates airports. Hates everything about them. He’s going to miss private air travel. There are so many security cameras, so many checkpoints, so many damn _eyes_ that airports have always seemed to be a place someone like him had best avoid. In this particular case, he needs to be especially careful, because he has no idea who Bucky Barnes is in this universe. His luck hasn’t been that great recently, and he really doesn’t want to find himself in the universe where Marya is, only to spend the rest of his life in prison because his alter-ego is an international jewel thief or some shit. Or worse, live only a week because his ass gets shot by some jealous husband. He has to look like his ID, though, which means he has to take the chance of wearing his own face. He’ll just have to hope for the best. 

He shows up at the airport five hours early for the flight to New York. In part, he because he has nowhere else to go. But mostly because he knows his arm is going to be a big fucking problem. He’s never tried to get through airport security with it before. Never had to. At least he’s thought ahead. He spent a week in his universe creating reams of fake documentation showing that he lost his arm in a train accident and is part of a clinical trial of this new, highly advanced prosthesis. 

He’s shocked to find that no one at the airport gives a shit. Not like medical professionals, who know that no one makes prosthetics like his. Security workers just want to know that it isn’t a weapon (he grins for the second time in this universe when he hears that). No? Then move on, buddy. There’s a long line behind you. 

The first thing he does when he’s through security is purchase a computer tablet. He’s always wondered who would buy electronics from one of those vending machines at airports; now he knows. He wanted one the whole time he was recuperating, but thought it would be too odd to ask a hotel employee to purchase one for him. He needs to know the differences between this universe and his. 

Bucky sits down under a mounted television that is permanently tuned to a twenty-four-hour news channel and continues the process he began at the hotel while he was recuperating. He slept a lot during that time, but he usually had the news channel on. 

Thus far, he hasn’t found many differences. Apparently, terrorism is more of a problem here, because he learned pretty quickly that’s what happened to the Marina Bay Sands resort. It’s part of why he was so nervous about getting through airport security, and part of why he’s so surprised that it was so easy. 

Another difference is that he’s seen no media coverage of the Avengers or Captain America at all. That’s one of the big reasons he’s been so anxious to get a computer. He Googles himself first, and gets a surprise. He doesn’t exist. He can find _nothing_ online about himself, no matter how many permutations of his name he enters. He tries “Winter Soldier”. Nothing again. _Huh? Did none of that happen in this universe?_ He frowns. 

Then he bites the bullet and Googles Steve. Nothing again. Now _that_ is really weird. Steve isn’t Captain America? Bucky tries Googling “Captain America.” He’s relieved to get some hits; he was starting to wonder whether _any_ of it had happened in this universe. What he learns is that, in this universe, Captain America was a commercial character, created to sell war bonds. He was never real, and he ceased to be relevant when World War II ended. Bucky can find no information about the name of the man who “played” Captain America during the war. 

_I wonder what Stevie would have to say about that._

As far as Bucky can tell, the war happened the way it happened in his universe. There was just no Hydra. _Can’t say that breaks my heart_ , he thinks. 

Next, he Googles Tony Stark. For his purposes, that’s really the only thing that matters. If Marya came here, she would have tried to find Tony Stark. He has a momentarily heart-stopping fear that Tony won’t exist here, either, in which case Bucky will be well and truly fucked. How is he supposed to find a woman with no surname, no relatives, nothing but a first name, a face, and a distinctive blonde patch in her hair? 

His heart starts again when he sees that Tony, at least, exists here. And how. Tony’s escapades in this universe dwarf those in Bucky’s own. Here, Stark Industries never stopped making weapons. Here, Tony was apparently never taken hostage in Afghanistan, and there appears to be no Ironman. Instead of designing Ironman suits and equipment for a team of superheroes, he’s apparently spent his time having truly mind-boggling amounts of sex. The description of Tony Stark as a “genius billionaire playboy philanthropist” doesn’t appear to fit in this universe. If he’s a genius, he’s not using it much. Stark Industries doesn’t appear to have come up with a new weapon since the Jericho Missile. Billionaire playboy? He’s a multi-multi-billionaire Olympic-level sexual athlete. That appears to be all he does: collect interest on his incalculable wealth and fuck everything that holds still long enough. Well, there are drugs, too, with terrifying levels of documentation. The philanthropy seems to be a little pro forma. The Tony in Bucky’s universe did a hell of a lot more, with less money. _Jeez_ , Bucky thinks, _I never expected to think of Tony Stark as someone who economizes._

Bucky can’t help himself; he clicks on some of the more lurid links. Shit, he really hopes this Tony has a good doctor and can tolerate antibiotics. Because _damn_. This guy gets _around_. Some of the stories are so Tony, Bucky feels a stab of nostalgia. Suddenly, he has to swallow around a lump in his throat. He’s missed Tony, but it hasn’t hit him this hard in a long time. Bucky’s glad Tony’s still alive in this universe – which is actually a little bit surprising, given some of his escapades - and he hopes he gets to meet him. He clicks on a link about Tony being arrested for indecent exposure at an art gallery gala. 

And that’s where he sees it. 

There are plenty of pictures of Tony, handcuffed and clearly shouting at the top of his lungs, being escorted from a glitzy hotel by a group of police officers, both uniformed and plainclothes. But there is one, smaller and less prominent than the more entertaining ones, of a nicely-tuxedoed Tony wearing sunglasses ( _after dark, Tony, you’re a douche in any universe_ ) on a red carpet. He’s smiling like a fool and waving to a cheering crowd. On his arm is a beautiful woman in a stunning blue gown that fits her lithe body like a second skin, but features a transparent blue overskirt that flutters gracefully around her. The strapless bodice shows off her toned arms and shoulders, and does very nice things for her breasts. She’s not smiling; the look on her face is more of an amused smirk, like she knew this event was going to be nuts, but still can’t believe the foolishness she’s seeing. And her massive abundance of hair is twisted behind her in a chignon of sorts that looks simpler than Bucky knows it probably is. The simplicity sets off the striking, prominent, white-blonde patch of hair on the right side of her head. 

Marya. 

He’s found her. She’s here. His heart lurches in his chest and he actually has to cough to jump-start his lungs into breathing again. Bucky is thunderstruck. If seeing Tony’s picture made him nostalgic, seeing Marya’s picture takes him all the way back to the day she died. Or… didn’t. Whatever. He’s full-on smiling, with tears running down his face. He doesn’t realize it until a grandmotherly Chinese woman next to him actually hands him a tissue and pats him reassuringly on the arm. 

The article says nothing about her, doesn’t mention her at all. But there is no doubt it’s her. Suddenly, his flight can’t begin soon enough. 

***** 

The hours at the Singapore airport and his research on the plane have prepared him, at least a little, for life in New York. The shape of life seems to be the same in this universe, but many of the details aren’t. He didn’t notice it so much in Singapore, because he’d only been to Singapore a few times, and always on Hydra missions that he’ll never remember well. But he grew up in New York, and he lived here once he broke free of his Hydra conditioning. The details are more obvious to him here. Here, the increased level of terrorism in the world is more glaring. 

There are armed security police in the airport. They’re not airport security, or NYPD, or State Patrol, and they’re not National Guard. They’re something else. Something Bucky’s universe doesn’t have. He can already tell he’s going to be spending as much time on Google in this universe as he did when he first emerged from Hydra captivity into the present. Hopefully, there won’t be quite that much to catch up on here. 

Bucky finds a kiosk and exchanges all his Singapore dollars for American ones. He’s shocked at the exchange rate, and glad that it’s in his favor. Did the terror attack in Singapore have some affect on its economy that caused that? More Google homework. 

He gets a cab and his eyes are glued to the window all the way from the airport to Manhattan. The cabbie notices, and asks if it’s his first time in New York, to which Bucky answers yes. It is, after all, his first time in _this_ New York. He doesn’t go to the Tower right away. He’s got errands to run first. 

A few hours later, Bucky walks down the street toward Stark Tower. Not Avengers Tower, of course, because Tony never became Ironman in this universe. It’s the same building, though, or it appears to be. He feels about a hundred things right now. He might be about to see Tony Stark alive again. Maybe Natasha, too. He may see Clint for the first time since Tony’s funeral. And he may come face to face with Steve, and with himself. _That_ would be some shit. Most importantly, he might be about to learn where Marya is. Of course, he also might be about to get the door slammed in his face, which is more likely on this first attempt, but there’s always the possibility. 

Things get strange the moment he steps into the building, and he knows right away that, however he thought this might go, it ain’t gonna happen like that. 

He gets double-takes from a few of the people in the lobby, a couple of whom sort of shyly greet him as though he’s – what? They’re doing this weird tight-smile thing, and having trouble meeting his eyes, but not in a “oh, fuck, it’s the _Zimniy Soldat_ , please, God, let him be in a good mood and not feed me my pancreas” way. He knows _that_ look. And then something _really_ odd happens. 

“Sergeant Barnes?” A tall, dark-skinned black man with a shiny shaved head calls to him from behind a marble and brushed nickel reception desk with the Stark logo embedded in the front. The man is wearing the typical blazer-tie-slacks uniform of a receptionist-cum-security guard, but he looks like he was chiseled out of obsidian by a very gay, very horny, military-obsessed sculptor. The dude is seriously built. 

Bucky’s been in plenty of situations that call for icewater in your veins, and he recognizes this as one of them. He’s glad he has a few weapons now. He knows he needs to brazen it out, but all the same, it’s a little bit of a mindfuck to be brazenly pretending to be _yourself_. 

“Yeah,” Bucky grins, ambling loosely over to the desk. “How’s it goin’?” 

“Sir, did you lose your key card or something? Would you like me to get you into the private elevator?” The guy is looking around like he’s going to get caught at something. _What the fuck_? 

“Stark in yet?” Bucky asks, like it’s any random day and of course he’s here in Stark Tower because _of course_ he’s here. 

“I don’t – I mean, he’s here, yes. I’m not aware that he left?” Yeah, Reception Dude is definitely having some sort of poorly-contained freakout. 

“OK. Yeah, if you’d get me into the elevator, that’d be great.” 

Apparently, that’s the correct answer, because Reception Dude looks like someone just pulled the ramrod out of his ass. He’s actually got a little line of sweat beads going and Bucky definitely heard an exhale of relief. _MMMmmmkaaaay._

If this Stark tower is like Bucky’s Avengers tower, there will be only one button in this elevator. When the doors open, he steps in to see that’s the case, and Reception Dude pushes it. 

“You have a good day, now, Sergeant.” 

“Thanks,” Bucky says, trying to sound preoccupied because he has no idea what Reception Dude’s name is. “You, too.” 

Reception Dude walks away as the doors close, but at the last second, Bucky sees him give a troubled backward glance. _It’s going to be real interesting when these doors open again_ , he thinks. 

It actually isn’t very interesting right away. The elevator lobby up here in the residences looks like it always did. Through the doors, the Common Room looks about the same, too. Furniture’s different, but only in details, not in overall style. The room still feels like this could be a high-end prep school for gifted nerds. 

The first person Bucky sees is Natasha. _Holy shit_. Bucky’s been so focused on seeing Tony and Marya again, and of course on the possibility of seeing Steve, that he hasn’t given nearly enough thought to seeing Nat alive again. She’s curled up in a chair that’s about twice her size, reading a magazine. If this universe is like his, it’ll either be a high-end fashion magazine, or _Guns & Ammo_. 

“Barnes,” she croons from her chair, not looking up. 

He decides to go with a noncommittal grunt and keeps moving. Before they discover that he’s the wrong _him_ , he’s hoping he can get to Tony. Through the Common Room is the huge eat-in kitchen, where his Avengers always seemed to gather when they wanted to hang out together. The Common Room was always more for quiet chilling and for more serious conversations. Apparently, that’s true here, as well. 

What Bucky is hoping to do is get through the kitchen into the hallway beyond, where there are a few of the residential apartments and, most important, the elevator to Tony’s lab. Tony has a private elevator to his lab and penthouse, of course, but if you’re not Tony, this is the route you have to take. 

He doesn’t make it. 

Bucky is about ten steps from the archway into the hallway he’s headed for when he hears the unmistakable snick of a safety being flipped and a hand racking the slide of a pistol. From the sound of it, a Beretta. He freezes. 

“Turn around, asshole. I don’t particularly want to shoot you in the back.” 

Bucky finds it very, very disconcerting to be threatened in his own voice. 

“I’d kind of prefer that you don’t shoot me at all.” 

The man behind him gives a noncommittal hum. Bucky turns around. 

Not only are their faces identical, but the expressions on them probably are, too. But where Bucky’s hair is shoulder-length these days, and he wears a full beard, the man facing him has short hair and just a few days’ worth of scruff. 

“Fuck _me_ ,” he breathes. 

“We could do that, but it’d be weird. It’s actually a little weird even to contemplate, so can I request a different expression of surprise?” Bucky replies. 

That earns Bucky perhaps the most complex look he’s ever received. Is his face that expressive? He’s going to have to re-think Poker night. 

“The fuck _are_ you?” 

“I’m definitely not a threat, which is the first issue. Why don’t you take your gun off me, huh? I’ll tell you who I am.” 

The gun stays where it is. “Talk.” 

Bucky starts to object, but as he does, he hears the sound of footsteps in the hallway behind him. Someone walking slowly and being careful where they plant their feet, which in the circumstances means it’s someone aiming a weapon. 

“Hey, Barnes?” Clint’s voice comes from directly behind Bucky. “Why are there two of you?” 

“He’s just about to explain that,” Bucky’s double says. His voice is cold, but there’s an edge to it, like he’s having as much of a freakout as Reception Dude did, he’s just better at hiding it. 

“You might’ve guessed my name. I’m James Buchanan Barnes. I go by Bucky.” 

Now _that_ gets a full expression from the Bucky with the gun. “ _Bucky_? You can’t be serious.” 

Clint is laughing out loud behind him. “Oh, that is so gonna stick.” 

“The hell is wrong with Bucky?” He asks, offended and surprised. He doesn’t go by Bucky here? Another difference between his universe and this one. 

“Who are you? What are you doing here?” 

“I’ll tell you. I got no problem telling you. I actually _came here_ to tell Tony Stark.” 

There’s a whoosh and a loud thump that reverberates through the floor. 

“So tell me,” Tony’s voice says from behind Bucky and to his left, where there’s a bank of windows. One of them has slid open without a sound, and Tony is standing there, having just flown through it wearing full Ironman armor. 

_Huh? So Tony_ did _become Ironman in this universe? Fucker must take vitamins or something, because he has a_ lot _going on here._

“My name is Bucky Barnes,” Bucky says to Ironman. “I came here using a device that you created. A switch. It’s in my pocket, but I’m guessing reaching for it would be a bad move right about now.” 

“’Bad’ doesn’t quite cover it, Yanni. Keep ‘em where we can see ‘em. Go on.” 

“I’m from an alternate universe. The same universe Marya came from.” 

If Bucky had it to do over again, he wouldn’t have been quite so blunt, or mentioned Marya right away. Because he can feel all three of them flinch at that, and they’re all three still holding weapons on him, ready to fire. 

“How the hell… Who are you?” Bucky demanded. Well, no, his name isn’t Bucky here. _Barnes_ demanded. The other one. Whatever. 

“I just told you that. Now, can we please put down the weapons? Or at least aim them somewhere else? I’ve been looking forward to seeing Marya again, and I’d prefer not to be bleeding when I do.” 

For a tense moment or two, nothing happens. Then Ironman flips up his visor, and the other Barnes looks over at him. Bucky moves a little so that he can see Clint, at least out of the corner of his eye. Clint seems to be OK with that, because he moves enough toward Tony that all four of them can see each other now. He pointedly doesn’t un-nock his arrow, or aim his bow elsewhere, though he does look at Tony just as the other Barnes is doing. 

“Shit, Barnes, he _does_ look like you. Except for the whole Hagrid thing he’s got goin’.” 

Bucky throws a dirty look at Clint. He still misses a good fifty per cent of modern references, but he knows who Hagrid is. “Fuck you,” he mutters, but it’s kind of affectionate. It’s good to see Clint. When he went back to Iowa with his family after Tony’s funeral, it had been permanent. They’d all known it would be. 

“Screw it,” Tony says. “You armed, _Bucky_?” There’s a definite laugh in the way he says the name. 

“Yeah,” Bucky answers simply. 

“Let’s have ‘em,” Tony orders, holding out his gauntlets and making a beckoning motion with his fingers. “Soon as you disarm, we’ll stand down.” 

Bucky very reluctantly removes both of his guns, and all but one of his knives. He sets them on the large kitchen table, slowly and carefully. “That’s it,” he says dejectedly, when he’s done. 

“Not if you’re me, it isn’t. You got at least one more.” 

Bucky looks at his counterpart and smiles. He reaches to the small of his back and pulls out the Ka-bar. Setting it on the table next to the others, he holds out his hands. “Frisk me if you want.” 

The other Barnes holsters his weapon and does just that. Neither of them seem surprised to see that the other has a metal left arm. He finds the switch in the right front pocket of Bucky’s black jeans, and takes it out. 

When Barnes is satisfied that Bucky’s unarmed, Clint relaxes and drops his arrow back in the quiver over his shoulder. He collapses his bow into an impossibly small rectangular block, then sets it on the table. Tony pushes a button and his Ironman armor retracts, seemingly into nothing. The other Barnes hands the switch to Tony, who doesn’t entirely hide his shock at seeing it. 

“Don’t flip that switch if you like this universe,” Bucky warns. 

Tony holds up the device and, with a cocky sneer, flips the switch. 

Bucky gasps. “What the hell?” 

“Even if you were telling the truth, there’s no way a device like that would work more than once.” 

_Huh. Tony’s files hadn’t mentioned that._

“Come on,” Clint says, elbowing Bucky to walk in front of them toward the Common Room. 

Upon entering, Bucky sees that Natasha hasn’t moved from her chair. “Hello again,” she greets him pleasantly. 

Now that he comes around the chair, Bucky sees that she has a matched pair of Glock 26s in her lap. She’s also still reading a glossy fashion magazine. 

Bucky can’t help it. He smiles to see Natasha, superior, snarkily amused, and very much alive. He realizes that he has already smiled more in this universe than he smiled during the last year in his own. And he hasn’t even seen Marya yet. 

They sit him down across from Natasha, and Clint perches – possessively, Bucky thinks – on the arm of her chair. Tony remains standing to the left of Natasha, arms folded. The other Barnes stands right next to Bucky, looming over him, coiled so tightly Bucky imagines he can hear the man vibrating, and glowering at him like he’s still considering shooting him. 

The other Barnes addresses Natasha. “He says he’s James Buchanan Barnes, from Marya’s universe.” 

Clint smirks. “He goes by Bucky.” 

Natasha’s mouth stretches into a disapproving line. “I can tell you right now I will not be calling you _Bucky_.” 

“That’s my _name_ , you assholes. How about a little respect?” 

“If you’re really Barnes from another universe, you know you’ve come to the wrong place for that,” Natasha deadpans. 

“Why isn’t there anything about you on the internet?” Bucky asks. “I Googled you, and nobody’s ever heard of the Avengers, or Ironman, or…” 

Bucky sees all four of them stiffen. Tony, especially, looks disturbed. Bucky sees him sneak a look at the switch he’s still holding in his hand. Their reactions would probably have been entirely invisible to most people, but Bucky knows these four – hell, one of them is _him_ \- and he’s been trained for a lifetime to see the smallest details. 

“We’re asking the questions here,” Barnes growls. 

That’s when the elevator opens. Their faces tell Bucky that all four apparently know who’s on that elevator, and don’t want them coming in. Clint jumps from the arm of the couch and tries to reach the door, but he’s still two steps short of it when it opens. 

And Marya steps into the room.


	13. The Cell

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bucky sees Marya for the first time. The Avengers question Bucky, then assign him "quarters," which turn out to be a nice cell, but a cell nonetheless. The Avengers question Bucky some more over breakfast, and he questions them back. Although she isn't supposed to see him, Marya comes to visit Bucky in his cell.

Her hair is shorter. It reaches only to her mid-back now, and it’s layered. He likes it. It’s a softer look, with a bedhead messiness to it that suits her. It _really_ works with the blonde patch. She sees him immediately, and freezes. Because the other Barnes is standing next to him, there’s no moment when she thinks Bucky is him with different hair. Marya knows instantly that Bucky is… someone else.

She’s shocked, that much is clear. Her face registers her confusion and Bucky thinks there’s a little bit of anger to it.

“Marya, come with me,” Clint says, taking her arms and trying to herd her into the kitchen. She doesn’t budge. It’s as though she’s suddenly made of something with an atomic weight somewhere near uranium. Clint even tries to push her along, but she’s not moving.

“C’mon, Marya,” he wheedles. “You don’t wanna be here right now.”

She doesn’t even acknowledge Clint, just keeps boring holes into Bucky with her eyes. 

“Seriously, kiddo,” Tony says softly. “You don’t want any of this.”

Marya steps around Clint, who gives up trying to restrain her. She comes to stand next to Tony. 

Bucky starts to stand up himself, only to feel the other Barnes lay a heavy hand on his shoulder.

“Uh-uh,” he says, his tone a warning.

Bucky knows his mouth is half-smiling, half hanging open, and he’s blinking like an owl to clear the tears welling in his eyes so he can see Marya clearly. He’s probably never looked like more of an idiot, and he couldn’t care less. 

“Marya…” It’s something between a sigh and a prayer.

She stares at him, her distrust and distress coming at him like something physical. 

Tony puts an arm around her shoulders and has to use more than a little muscle to turn her away from Bucky. “Go with Clint,” he says softly to her, as though she is a child.

The way she looks up at him is almost a plea. “What is happening?” She breathes.

“I’ll tell you everything. Just go with Clint for now.”

Bucky watches Marya consider that. He’s always loved that she’s an open book. Now more than ever, because he can see that she’s as intrigued as she is disturbed by him. And he knows, before she does it, that she’s going to object.

“No,” she answers quietly, and steps out from under Tony’s arm. “I want to know who this man is.”

Tony waits a beat, probably deciding whether to insist she leave, then seems to admit defeat on some level. “He says he’s Barnes, from your universe.”

Her body doesn’t move, though her eyes turn to Bucky. She takes him in for a very long time, her expression of troubled concern unchanged. Bucky starts to feel like a butterfly pinned for inspection inside a glass case. “I swear to you, Marya, it’s me. Let me prove it. Ask me anything, do whatever tests-“

Barnes’ left hand is still on Bucky’s shoulder, and he squeezes painfully as he growls, “Shut up.”

Marya looks up at Tony, who is still standing very near her. “Is he?”

There are more emotions in those two syllables, and her face as she says them, than Bucky can possibly sort out. But he’s only interested in one. Longing. And he hears it loud and clear.

“No,” Tony answers definitively, still in that soothing voice suited to someone who’s just awakened from a nightmare. “That’s why you shouldn’t be here. We don’t know what he’s up to, but it seems like a good idea to keep him away from you.”

She looks back at Bucky, then up at Tony. “Is that an order, Sir?”

Tony frowns and purses his lips for a second before answering on a sigh, “Yeah, I think it is. Sorry.”

Marya nods once and, with another long, searching look at Bucky, turns to leave the room. Clint follows her. She casts a last glance at Bucky just before passing through the doorway into the kitchen.

“I’m not gonna hurt you! I’d never hurt you-“ Bucky calls after her, but she’s gone.

Bucky’s left staring after her. Marya. _His_ Marya. He’s a little ashamed of himself. Not a very dignified or profound reunion, him just sitting there, slack-jawed and gawking. He sounded whiny, too. _Fuck_. Then he remembers he hadn’t been at his best when they’d first met, either. He’s actually a little glad about that now. Glad he’d set her expectations low from the start.

*****

They don’t hurt him. In fact, he meets this universe’s Bruce Banner when they insist Bucky let him examine his injuries, just to make sure he’s healing well. _That’s_ a bizarre meeting. When he tells Bruce that, in his universe, Bruce has merged with the Hulk and is now an enormous, green, glasses-wearing dork, Bruce looks at him like… well, like Bucky had looked at Professor Hulk. 

Aside from some fading bruises and residual pain in his right elbow, he’s as good as new. Bruce’s scans show that his broken leg and internal injuries can be detected only by the still-healing scars where they’d been. 

The Avengers then spend several hours asking him a shitload of questions, which he answers honestly and completely. Why wouldn’t he? But they never react to his answers, just ask more questions, and they never give him information in return. One of the few things he learns, to his dismay, is that this universe’s James Barnes, when he uses a first name at all, goes by Jim. Bucky shivers in disgust. Jim. The only name he hates worse than James. Aside from that painful bit of intel, though, the questioning is calm and civil. They listen attentively, ask him frequently if he wants a break, and make sure he’s comfortable.

But they don’t believe him. In the end, Tony agrees to study the switch, although Bucky is well aware that isn’t really a victory. Tony’s so damned insatiably curious, studying the switch was a given. Beyond that, they call bullshit on every part of his story and, when they get tired of interrogating him, they put him in what they call his quarters, although among themselves, it’s more commonly referred to as the brig.

It’s not bad, for a jail cell. The main room is comfortably furnished and there’s a computer, books, movies and TV, food, a separate sleeping room and bathroom. But one wall of the main room is some kind of clear barrier. On the other side, there’s an antechamber or whatever you want to call it, where the Avengers can come and see their prisoner. Bucky feels like a fucking diorama. Human Male in his Natural Habitat. The barrier’s shatterproof (he knew it would be, but he didn’t want to disappoint them by not testing it), but he can hear through it when they push a button. There’s no clear wall in the bedroom or bathroom, but there is also no attempt to conceal the multiple cameras in those rooms, either.

Bucky lays back on his bed, an arm behind his head and the other hand on his stomach. He sighs deeply, staring at the ceiling and thinking increasingly dark thoughts. He tries to stop himself, but his mind has been a black cave for a long time now, and that’s not going to change in a few hours here. 

They’ve told him nothing. He’s tried every way he knows how to learn more about them, but they’re nothing if not single-minded. He’s tired and he’s a little discouraged. He knows that’s ridiculous; he found the Avengers and Marya with no trouble at all in this new universe and they didn’t kill him or tell him to fuck off. OK, so he’s a prisoner right now, but he’d kind of expected that. He knows they won’t hurt him. All in all, this first day’s been a stunning success he had no right to expect. But he’s still upset. He only got that one short glimpse of Marya, and knowing she’s right here, in this same building right now, is making him crazy. He also wants to spend more time with Tony and Natasha, and even Clint. Clint’s not dead in Bucky’s universe, but he’s still gone, and it’s still been just as long since Bucky’s seen him. 

He thinks about Steve. Wonders whether Steve will ever know he’s gone, and if he does, whether he’ll care that, time travel or not, Bucky’s beyond his reach now. He wonders where this universe’s Steve is.

Bucky doesn’t know how to feel about the fact that he hasn’t met him yet. He’s been more than half-expecting to see Steve again, even a different Steve, and he wonders whether he’s disappointed that he hasn’t yet. Probably. That would be just like his masochistic ass. Still fucking whipped two years after the lying asshole dumped him for a chick he hasn’t seen in eighty years. 

One of the cameras moves. They’re encased in darkened bubbles, but he has supersoldier hearing. He doesn’t have to see the cameras to know when they’re moving. Someone is watching him. He wonders if it’s Marya. 

After a fairly short time, Bucky dozes and then falls fully asleep. He’s still using a lot of energy to heal, and the questioning has taken a lot out of him, not to mention the emotional strain of seeing Tony and Natasha again, breathing and laughing and giving each other shit.

It is Marya watching him, although he can’t know that, and she watches for a very long time. She’s disobeying orders; Tony told Jarvis to block her feed from the brig. But Marya has an affinity for tech and Jarvis is pragmatic, so when she began to hack into the feed, Jarvis relented. She would have succeeded, anyway, and this way Jarvis doesn’t have to repair any damage.

Marya doesn’t want to be protected. She wants to _know_.

*****

It’s two days before anyone comes to see Bucky. Jarvis apologizes to him on Sir’s behalf, but he and the other residents of the Tower are “unavailable” and will be back to see him as soon as possible. Bucky knows quite well what that means; no one knows better than he does what it sounds like when a Quinjet takes off from the landing platform on the Tower. But he’s not confined to his cell. He tells Jarvis he wants exercise, and Jarvis quite politely unlocks the door and instructs him how to get to a well-appointed gym two floors below. 

Bucky, of course, tries everything he can think of to escape, but Jarvis – unfailingly courteous – simply tells him “That’s the incorrect door” or “The gym is in the opposite direction” whenever he deviates from the prescribed route. He knows now how gerbils feel in those habitats connected by plastic tubes. 

He knows this gym. The Avengers in his universe have the Compound upstate now, but he’s seen this gym from the days when they lived in the Tower. Tony’s guests at the Tower use it now. Or they did, when Tony was alive. Bucky honestly doesn’t know who uses it now, if anyone.

It’s a long two days. Not that Bucky’s living any differently than he used to. _Holy shit, he’s become a pathetic, depressed hermit_ , he thinks. But now that he’s here, and so are Marya and the friends he’d lost in his universe, he wants to be with them. He wants them to come and interrogate him, or test him, or do whatever it is they need to so that he can prove he is who he says he is. 

If he’s honest with himself, he also kind of wishes he was with them for whatever mission they’re on. He’d give anything to fight beside Nat and Ironman again. Clint and the Hulk, too, for that matter. It isn’t that he dislikes the new Avengers who came after they were gone. It just isn’t the _same_. And why hasn’t Bucky met Steve in this universe? He must be here, right? Surely, if the Avengers are on a mission, Captain America is with them?

Bucky spends much of the two days they’re gone doing more research. Now that he knows that the Avengers do, in fact, exist in this universe, he can only assume that they keep their existence secret. He wonders what that’s about. 

Once he begins looking, he finds the Avengers readily enough online. Not by name, and never directly. But it’s obvious to someone who knows what they’re looking for. News story after news story talks about improbable local heroes achieving superhuman feats that no one can really believe. The evidence is always there, but every one of these stories has an element of head-scratching about how the alleged heroes could possibly have done whatever it is they’re supposed to have done. Some of the stories flat-out deny that they did. And there are a few web sites, here and there, where amongst the stories about the moon landing being fake and the Secretary General of the U.N. being an alien, there are mentions of a top-secret group of superheroes out fighting terrorists. 

It’s always terrorists. The Chitauri invasion doesn’t appear to have happened in this universe, nor are there mentions of caped and nicknamed supervillains, or Asgardian gods. But there is a shocking amount of terrorist activity here. There are others, but the big terrorist threat seems to be the Ten Rings, which Bucky knows is the group that abducted and tortured Tony Stark in his universe. Bucky wonders. Is it a coincidence that Stark Industries is still making weapons, and the Ten Rings is still active? 

Bucky Googles Obadiah Stane. Nope. Doesn’t exist here. _Hmmm. Curious_.  
*****

Tony’s somewhat the worse for wear when he shows up in Bucky’s cell on the morning after the team returns. He’s got a black eye with a cut under it, bandage strips over some stitches on his nose, and his left arm’s in a sling. He’s also limping. Natasha looks a little better, but she, too, has cuts and bruises and a cast on her right wrist. Clint’s OK. He’s sporting a few bruises, but seems fine. 

Bucky’s happy to see that Sam Wilson is with them, too. He and Sam have never really been friends, but it’s still good to know that Sam is with the Avengers in this universe. He looks good. In fact, if he took part in the mission they’ve just returned from, you can’t tell it by looking at him. Bucky can’t see any injuries on him at all. 

Still no Steve. Bucky decides he’s going to get at least one answer today. 

The group stops outside the transparent wall of Bucky’s cell. There’s a two-person catering crew behind them, flanking a rolling cart that looks like it might be breakfast. Tony knocks on the barrier with one knuckle, a smirk on his face. “Can we come in? We brought food.”

Bucky shrugs from where he’s standing in front of the open refrigerator in his little kitchen area, drinking orange juice from the bottle. The door buzzes and opens with a loud series of clicks, and Tony and Natasha enter. 

“You’re not gonna make me hold a weapon on you to make sure the caterers are safe, are you?” Natasha drawls.

“Not if they have coffee.”

Sam and Clint follow the caterers through the door. While the caterers set up at the good-sized table in the room, Sam saunters over to Bucky and holds out a hand. Bucky shakes it. 

“Sam Wilson,” he says.

“I know. We have one in my universe, too.”

Sam smiles. “He as good lookin’ as me?”

“Exactly as good looking, as a matter of fact,” Bucky grins back.

Sam gives him an appraising look. “Not sure about the hair, man. There’s an awful lot of it.”

“Yeah, your Barnes is apparently more dedicated to grooming than I am.”

“Bullshit,” Sam laughs. “It ain’t that hard to get a haircut. You get off on your flowing tresses. You’re as conceited as he is.”

Bucky’s surprised. This Sam is not only nicer than his, but also seems to be much more at ease with Bucky than the rest of these Avengers.

When the table is set and the caterers have gone, the group sits down to one of the best breakfasts Bucky’s ever had. Almost like it’s the most normal thing in the world to be hanging out in a cell, eating Eggs Benedict with the prisoner.

“I have a question,” Bucky announces before any substantive conversation can begin. “And don’t say ‘we’re asking the questions here,’ because I know that. I plan on answering whatever you ask, like I been doin’. But I gotta know. Where’s Captain America?”

The other three at the table exchange glances, and Natasha gives a slight shrug, upon which Tony answers, “He has some things he needs to take care of this morning. Are you that fond of your own face?”

“Told you. Conceited,” Sam grins at Bucky.

Bucky frowns. “No. Captain America. Steve. Steve Rogers.”

There’s another of those stunned reactions they can’t quite hide.

“Who’s that?” Clint asks. The others do a very good job of pretending nonchalance. Just not good enough to fool someone with Bucky’s skills.

“Don’t bother. I can see you know who I’m talking about. Steve Rogers. Tall, blond, stubborn as a statue of a bull?”

There’s no answer. No verbal answer, anyway. But Bucky’s trained eye sees the answer anyway. 

“Fuck,” he whispers.

There’s a round of glances between those at the table, except for Sam. Sam meets Bucky’s eyes squarely. “A year ago now.”

“Sam!”

“Come the fuck on, Tony, he knows. We really gonna sit here and waste time and energy bullshitting? And then expect _him_ to be straight with _us_?”

“You saying you believe him?” Tony asks, a clear challenge in his eyes.

“I ain’t sayin’ he’s Barnes from another universe. But, whoever he is, he knows about Captain America and Steve Rogers. And he knows a bunch of other shit we’re gonna have to figure out how to deal with. Anyway, no point tryna hide _this_. Ain’t like Steve’s comin’ back, is it?” Sam snarls. 

Bucky has learned some things from Sam’s reaction and the looks on the faces of the others at the table. First, they disagree about what, if anything, to tell Bucky. And second, whatever happened to their Steve, they’re all still trying to come to terms with it.

“Tell me,” Bucky asks, as sympathetically as he can. “Please.”

“I thought Steve Rogers was supposed to be your one true love in the other universe,” Tony sneers, and Bucky knows the feelings he’s taking out on Bucky actually have nothing to do with him. “You really want to hear how he died?”

“Tony…” Natasha says gently.

“Or maybe you do. He’s supposed to have gone back in time, left you for some lady spy, right?”

“Tony. Enough.”

Tony blows out his breath and glares at Natasha, but doesn’t say anything more. 

Bucky takes a few breaths, considering. “You’re right. Maybe I don’t want to know.”

“Doesn’t really matter, anyway,” Sam sighs. “He’s gone. Died savin’ a whole shitload of people, not that anyone will ever get to fucking know that.”

“We are not getting into _that_ this morning…” Clint warns.

For a few moments, everyone eats in silence, occupied with their own thoughts. Bucky’s head is reeling. There’s a lot to parse in the short exchange he’s just heard. But most of it is just facts. The thing that’s keeping him from pursuing any of them right now is the deep, searing pain he feels at learning that Steve is dead. Granted, he wasn’t Bucky’s Steve. Bucky never even met him. But the idea of Steve Rogers dead in any universe tears a path right through Bucky’s guts. _Fuck._ Sometimes he wishes he’d never met Steve.

“Well,” Natasha finally says. “Hope you enjoyed that delightful peek at our dirty laundry. I’m sure your handlers will have a field day with all that.”

“I don’t have handlers. I’m not a spy, not here to make trouble, not here to out you guys-“

“No, you’re just a poor, sad fuck tryna cure your broken heart by looking up an old girlfriend in an alternate universe,” Tony mutters. “We know.”

Sam rolls his eyes, tossing his linen napkin onto his plate, but says nothing.

Bucky decides to push his luck. They seem tired this morning, and given what he’s seeing, they don’t seem to be in the mood for the unified approach they’d used on him before. “Speaking of Marya, how is she? Did she go on the mission with you? She’s not hurt?”

“What mission?” Clint asks. “Who says we went on a mission?”

Bucky hadn’t tripped to it when he’d spoken earlier, but Clint’s tone as he asks these questions is telling. He apparently agrees with Sam about answering Bucky’s questions. He isn’t even trying to hide his sarcasm, which is aimed at Tony.

Now it’s Clint on whom Natasha uses her disappointed teacher tone. “Clint.”

She turns to Bucky. “Marya is fine. She’s not hurt.”

“Thank you,” Bucky says sincerely. “One more thing, and all the rest of the questions are yours. You said Captain America had things to do this morning. And then you said something about my face. Are you telling me that…”

“Jim Barnes is Captain America now,” Sam confirms, a little sadly, a little proudly. 

Even though he suspected this from Tony’s comment, Bucky’s dumbstruck. In this universe, Steve is dead and Bucky is Captain America. He knows how he feels about the first. It’s gonna take him a while to wrap his mind around the second.

The Avengers around the table appear to recognize that, because they give Bucky some time to let the news sink in. After a while, Natasha steers the conversation gently to business. “Why don’t you tell me why you think we were on a mission.”

“I know what a Quinjet sounds like when it lifts off from the roof here. You left in a hurry, and you came back beat up. You’re all tired.” Bucky shrugs. “Mission.”

Natasha doesn’t react. He doesn’t expect her to. None of them react to any answers he gives, except the few times he’s surprised them into it, and even then, their reactions are extremely subtle. She just goes on to the next question.

The questioning goes on well into the afternoon. Nobody remembers lunch. When they finally decide to call it a day, they all stretch painfully. They’re all stiff from sitting, and Tony and Natasha are also stiff and sore from whatever had happened on their mission.

“Jarvis let me use the gym,” Bucky says. “Do you think I could do that again?” 

The Avengers look at one another. No words are spoken, but after a moment, Tony throws up his hands. “What the fuck ever,” he says, rolling his eyes. “It’s not like he can go anywhere.”

*****

Bucky’s exhausted again. The workout felt good – great, even – but answering all those questions was grueling and his mind is swirling with all the new information he’s trying to process. He stands in the steamy bathroom, toweling off his hair, his mind racing over convoluted tracks he’s trying to make lead somewhere that makes sense. 

He hears a knock, presumably on the clear barrier wall in the main room of this gerbil habitat he’s in. He finds it amusing that they’re so polite about entering what is, for all intents and purposes, a cell, when he’s their prisoner. He wonders whether that says good things about his chances of convincing them he’s really Bucky Barnes. 

He pads out to the main room, barefoot and wearing nothing but soft, blue sleep pants. He stops dead in his tracks when he sees Marya standing on the other side of the barrier, frowning and looking deeply unsure of herself. For a moment, they just look at one another. Then Bucky sees her eyes flick over him, and realizes he isn’t wearing a shirt. Given the intensely sexual nature of their former relationship, it’s probably an odd reflex, but Bucky feels like he’s been caught out. He mutters, “Just a minute,” and goes into the bedroom to grab the first T-shirt he sees. He throws it on, drops the towel on the floor and returns to the main room.

She hasn’t moved. 

“Do you… want to come in?” He asks.

“I’m not supposed to be here.” Her voice is small, uncertain. She’s staring at him intently, gulping in the sight of him, exactly the way he thinks he’s probably looking at her. She looks as concerned and suspicious as she did when he saw her the other night, and she’s agitated, like she’s fighting herself not to flee the room. But she can’t take her eyes off of him.

Neither one of them say anything for a long time. Bucky moves to within a few feet of the barrier and simply waits. For the moment, just being able to gorge his eyes on her is enough, and God knows he doesn’t want to do anything that might make her want to leave. 

She’s still indulging herself, gaping at him almost without blinking and certainly without looking away even for an instant, when she says, “Your hair is long.”

“Yeah,” he grins a little, pulling at it. “Lazy, I guess.”

She gives a very slight shake of her head. “Unhappy.”

For a second, he’s taken aback. But only for a second. This is Marya. There is no filter. She misses nothing, and what she thinks is what she says. He’s actually glad for the barrier right this second. Without it, he would not have been able to resist throwing his arms around her and crushing her to him. 

“Yeah. Probably. And you? Have you been happy?”

She thinks about that for a moment. “It’s been difficult. But this is a good place. These are good people. Yes, mostly I’m happy.”

Bucky can’t help it. He can see she’s uncomfortable, and he knows she’s probably not ready to hear it, maybe doesn’t even want to hear it, but he’s be standing here, looking right at Marya, alive and just a few feet away. He’s completely unable to contain the overwhelming rush of emotions he feels. “I missed you, Marya. I’ll never be able to tell you how much I’ve missed you. All this time, I’ve thought you were dead, and now we’re standing here. I don’t know how to tell you how good it is to see you. To know you’re really alive, and safe. It means everything to me.”

Bucky can see that what he’s said causes more struggle for her, in her expression and in the way she can’t seem to stand still, like she’s fighting to keep back from the barrier. 

“You say that you are my Sergeant. From the other universe.” 

“I am, Marya. Test me any way you need to. I’m telling the truth.”

“They say that’s probably impossible. That’s why I’m not supposed to be here.”

“Because you want it to be true?” Bucky’s fishing for some validation here. He knows it, knows it’s kind of pathetic, and doesn’t care. Marya’s all that’s left for him now, so what the hell. Pride’s overrated, anyway.

He doesn’t get quite what he’s looking for. Instead, he’s surprised by her flash of anger as she steps forward toward the barrier. “Of course I want it to be true,” she spits. “That’s no admission. If you are him, you know that. And if you are not him, it’s still no secret, and you are obviously using that as your reason for being here.”

“I am him. Me. I swear to you, Marya.”

“If you are, then I’m sorry for what we’re doing to you. I’m sorry for doubting you.” She takes another step toward the barrier and there’s a hard glitter in her eyes. “If you are not, I will be the one who kills you.”

Bucky blinks. “Uh… I guess that’s fair.”

“There are only a few people I love, Serg- whoever you are. And my Sergeant most of all. So if you are using him to do something that will hurt these people, or anyone else? If you are claiming to be him for any reason, and you are not… I have done a lot of bad things. Killing someone who would dishonor my Sergeant in that way will be easy. Even if that person does look like him.”

“You won’t have to do that. I promise you, I’m the Sergeant Barnes you knew. Let me prove that to you.”

“How?”

“I don’t know. Any way you need to.”

“We keep coming back to this. There is no way. I wish with all my heart there was. It’s why they don’t want me to see you. They’re afraid you will be able to convince me to believe you because I want to so badly. They think that’s why you chose to claim you’re my Sergeant. It’s a problem. They fight about you a lot.”

There’s not much he can say to that. She just stands, watching and studying him like she’s maybe going to have to describe him to a police sketch artist later. 

“I’ve spent time with your brothers and sisters, with Dmitriy. They’re doing so well, Marya-“

A flicker of something crosses her face. “Who is Dmitriy?”

“Oh, right. Sorry. The Troops. They have a Compound now, in Spain, and the first thing they did was get rid of those damn numbers and choose names. Your brother, who they called _Desit’_? He chose Dmitriy.”

“Dmitriy,” she repeats, and he can see her resist the smile that wants to be born.

“He’s well, Marya. They made him their leader. He’s strong, and happy. They all are, they-“

“I don’t want you to talk about them,” she says, her inherent politeness covering the fact that it was, in fact, a command.

Bucky freezes like she’s slapped him. 

“I’m sorry if you truly are my Sergeant. I would never want to hurt him. But the others tell me that I shouldn’t believe you are him. And if you are not, then I don’t want you to talk about my brothers and sisters.”

“I’m sorry. I guess I can understand that. Do they exist here? Have you found them here?”

“It was the first thing I did after I found Mr. Stark. I’m not sure he really believes me, where I came from, but I gave him the switch, and he took me in. When I told him about my brothers and sisters, he helped me look for them. But they don’t exist. Hydra… none of that happened here. So there were no Troops.”

“But… your family? They might exist here.”

“Yes. They might. But I don’t know my name, or where I come from. There’s no way to find them, and what would I say to them, if I did?”

Bucky takes a step toward the barrier. “I’m sorry, Marya.”

She looks up through eyes full of pain. “As long as there is no Hydra and no Troops, I’m satisfied.” 

They look at each other for a few moments before she says quietly, “I should not have told you that. I’m not supposed to tell you anything. I shouldn’t even be here, but I…”

“Tell me,” Bucky urges. 

“I just… wanted to see.” Marya backs up a couple steps, the uncertainty that has never left her face redoubling. “I am not supposed to be here,” she says again. 

“But you are here. I think it’s because you’re curious. You’ve always been curious about everything. You can ask me anything, Marya. I’ll answer.”

She narrows her eyes. “Why are you here?”

“Because I…” Bucky hesitates, his eyebrows knitting as he tries to find the words to explain. “I was unhappy. You were right. For a while, I was happy, very happy, but then some terrible things happened and it… did something to Steve. He-“

The change in Marya is as complete as it is sudden. Her face hardens and she steps further back from the barrier. 

“So you are going to tell me that lie, too.” Her voice is hard in a way he’s only heard once before, when she was preparing to help the Avengers liberate the Hydra bunker in Siberia. 

“I… Steve was… What?”

“It’s the flaw in your story, you know.”

“It’s what happened.”

“You should know that I knew Captain Rogers. I knew him in my universe, and in this one, too. You won’t make anyone believe that he would ever willingly leave Sergeant Barnes.”

Bucky’s laugh is harsh, ugly. Full of pain and anger and razor blades and gravel. “Yeah. I have a hard time with that one, myself.”

Marya turns to leave, apparently having satisfied whatever it was she came here for.

“Please, don’t go,” he says, his voice rough. He clears his throat, almost as if to banish the well-worn series of thoughts that are lined up, ready to punish him. Again.

“Please, Marya. Stay. Talk to me. I’ve missed you so much, and I came here to find you.”

She stops and turns slowly back around. She doesn’t voice whatever it is she’s holding back from saying, though. Instead, she says, “Then don’t tell me lies.”

“I’m not lying. But if you don’t believe me about that, then ask me something else. Just please. Stay.”

“All right, then.” She’s still angry, but the conflict is also still there. She knows she should go, but she wants to stay. “Why now? I have been here for years, and you said that Captain Rogers left a long time ago. Why did you come here now?”

Bucky sighs. “Tony didn’t tell me about the switch for a long time, and when he tried, I wouldn’t listen.”

“Why?”

“Because he…” Bucky has to think about that for a minute, wondering how to explain the careening shit show of events, emotions and motivations that led to his decision to follow Marya to this universe. “Tony buried himself in guilt about letting you set off that bomb. He was kind of a trainwreck anyway, and that… That one was tough on him. He loved you, you know.”

Marya doesn’t respond. It’s almost painful, watching her try to figure out how to feel about all of that. Bucky gets it. She would feel all kinds of things about that, if it was true. If Bucky was really who he says he is. She can’t help feeling them, anyway, even though she doesn’t believe him.

“I don’t think he could convince himself it worked. I think that’s why he kept it to himself for so long; he didn’t want to give us hope when he didn’t think there was any. But he got drunk one night and he tried to tell me. I didn’t want to hear it; he was babbling about a switch, and you, and I just shut him down because I knew what a mess he was.” Bucky shakes his head and his voice goes soft. “Actually, it wasn’t just that. It hurt to hear about you. I didn’t want any false hope. Tony wasn’t the only one who had a hard time with your death.”

Marya nods sadly. “It was hard for me, too. I was alive, but everyone I loved… I was angry with him for a while. It makes no sense, but…”

“Of course it does,” Bucky says, and he’s now close enough to the barrier to touch it. He doesn’t, but he wonders. If he flattened his hand on it, would she put hers up to his? The only thing that stops him is the fear that she wouldn’t. “Anyway, after… everything, I tried to keep going, but it all kind of went to shit. Finally, I decided I couldn’t stay in New York anymore, and I went to Tony’s lab, to look for somewhere else to go. And then I remembered him trying to tell me about the switch, and I decided to try to find you.”

“Mr. Stark wasn’t sure the switch worked. Why were you?”

Bucky remains silent, frowning as he tries to think how to respond. Well, she asked him not to lie to her. “I wasn’t, Marya. I really didn’t care whether it worked or not.”

She understands what he’s telling her, and this time, she simply can’t control her reaction. Tears spring to her eyes and she steps close to the barrier. Bucky sees her eyes go to the door of his cell, but she restrains herself, with evident difficulty, from going to it. After a moment’s struggle, she simply whispers, “I’m sorry.”

Bucky doesn’t have anything to say to that. 

She looks at small screen at her wrist. “I have to go.”

“Will you be in trouble for coming here?” He asks.

“They won’t know unless you tell them. I’m running a program that shows you sleeping. That is what anyone who checks will see.”

Bucky grins. “So you’ve been planning this. You wanted to see me.”

“We’ve covered that. Don’t congratulate yourself.”

“Can’t help it. I’m a little starved for affection these days. The fact that you wanted to see me, even if I’m not really me, I’m holdin’ onto that.”

He sees right away that something about that has hit a nerve with her. Her eyes go wide for a moment and her mouth quirks. She again looks like she might step toward the door. But, in the next second, Bucky watches her ruthlessly crush that impulse, and whatever emotion spurred it. 

“Good night,” she says, taking a step backward. She takes another one. Then she turns and walks from the room.

“Good night, Marya,” Bucky whispers, and the words taste wonderful on his tongue.


	14. The Tower

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The team has a meeting to decide what to do about Bucky. Afterwards, Barnes decides to ask Bucky to spar with him and it's possible that things might get just a wee bit out of hand. On the medical floor later, they do some bro bonding.

“For what it’s worth, he’s genetically identical to our Barnes,” Bruce says. “He doesn’t scar any more than ours does, but there is evidence on the scans that he’s had some of the same injuries as our Barnes. And there’s also evidence that he’s been through something like what he describes with this Hydra.”

“Like what?” Clint asks.

“I haven’t spent much time on the arm itself, that’s Stark, but the way it’s attached? It’s a nightmare. That thing’s gotta hurt every minute. It looks like it’s been worked on, and it’s nice work. But there are some ways he’s healed that are just the best his body could do. It’s clear that it was originally attached very differently, crudely, with a lot of attention to making sure he could feel with the arm and hand, but almost no attention to the way the arm itself would feel to him.”

“Shit,” Natasha hisses.

They’re sitting around the large, oval table in the conference room, with the scans Bruce is describing hovering above the center. Tony has called this meeting to decide what the hell they’re supposed to do with Bucky. Marya is purposely not in the room, although she’s made it abundantly clear that she’s furious about that. Tony ended up having to make her nonattendance a direct order and require her to agree, in the presence of Jarvis, that she would not listen in. Now that they’d discovered her back door to the camera feed from the brig, it was the only way to ensure that she couldn’t sweet-talk or hack Jarvis into helping her again.

“It gets worse,” Bruce continues. “We all know the kinds of injuries Barnes has had. Lotta breaks, lotta organ damage, right?”

“I feel like I get stabbed more than is really fair, too,” Barnes muses.

“Well this guy, his scans make yours look pristine. Even with super healing, his body shows the marks of a hell of a life.”

“What are you saying, Banner?” Tony asks, scowling.

“I’m saying that his scans are telling the same story his mouth is. Everything physical we’ve looked at is consistent. Down to the permanent thickening of his skull where he says that ‘emptying’ machine attached. It looks just like Marya’s, only worse. Much worse.”

“I don’t think Marya needs to know that,” Natasha notes. Sam huffs disgustedly, but stays mute.

Tony lifts his chin from the hand it’s been resting on, two fingers splayed across his cheek in his characteristic ‘listening to things he doesn’t want to hear’ pose. “Anything else?”

“That’s about it.”

“Well, the arm’s interesting,” Tony says. “It’s Stark tech, for the most part, but the materials and some of the features are pure Wakanda. Shuri confirmed it. T’Challa is outraged; he wants to disembowel whoever stole Wakandan secrets.”

Natasha sighs. “T’Challa’s so hot when he talks about disembowelment.”

“You didn’t tell him about Bucky, did you?” Sam asks.

Tony answers with a glare so disdainful only Tony Stark could achieve it.

Clint is squatting on his seat, as he always does, no matter how often Sam tries to explain to him how chairs work. “What about the switch?”

All eyes turn back to Tony, who doesn’t answer for a moment. Instead, he picks up the switch from the table in front of him and looks at it thoughtfully. He’s clearly troubled. 

“Tony?” Natasha prods.

“It’s a little different from Marya’s. The design, the way it works, is the same. It’s got a couple of upgrades I approve of. But it’s a little crude. Not as well-made as hers.”

Sam waves a hand toward the switch. “Which is entirely consistent with Bucky having made it himself, using Stark’s design. Just like he said. Look, I’m ready to vote. I believe the guy.”

“Just, slow your roll a minute,” Tony instructs him. “Nat? You’re the human lie detector, what do you think?”

“I got nothin’, Stark. He’s consistent, he’s got no tells… I have absolutely nothing that says he’s lying.”

“But…?” Clint rolls his eyes.

“But this Hydra he says trained him. They sound a lot like the Red Room. I’m consistent and I don’t have any tells, either.”

“Which I keep telling her, is completely circular. She can’t base not believing his story on the story itself. Either you believe it or you don’t.”

“Not true. Legends are much more effective when there’s as much truth to them as possible. This guy _was_ trained by somebody. He’s gotta know we’d spot that. So he builds it into his legend and explains it away.”

Clint makes a disgusted sound. 

“Guess we know where you stand, huh, Clint?” Sam asks hopefully.

“I don’t know. What I know is that we’re fucked here. There’s no way to prove or disprove his story, because according to Stark and Banner’s multiverse Theory, there’s a universe where this guy has all the same physical attributes, even though he’s not the Barnes from Marya’s universe. In which case-“

“He comes from right here,” Tony snaps, cutting Clint off. “He’s a spy. Somebody’s trying to infiltrate the Avengers Initiative, and they know about Marya, so they built themselves a Barnes to get to us through her.”

“He’s a genetic duplicate, Tony,” Bruce argues. “Nobody has cloning technology that can-“

Tony scoffs. “Oh, so you’re Team Bucky now?”

“I’m Team Science.”

It goes on like that for quite a while, as lines begin to be drawn between those who believe Bucky is who he says he is – Sam and Bruce – and those who don’t – Natasha and Tony. Clint wavers back and forth. When Tony mentions that, it suddenly becomes clear to everyone that Barnes has said almost nothing throughout the meeting.

“Hey, Cap, you wanna-“

“Told you not to call me that,” Barnes snarls, low and menacing.

“Sorry,” Tony says quickly. “You wanna weigh in here? You got kind of a unique perspective, I’d say.”

“Maybe,” Barnes says quietly. “But I got nothin’ to say right now. I’m listenin’ to all of you, I’m weighin’ the evidence. I’m not ready to vote.”

“This can’t go on forever, Barnes,” Natasha tells him. “He’s a prisoner.”

“Ain’t like we got him in a gulag, Nat. And he said himself he’s willing to be patient.” Barnes looks up at the faces around the table. “We gotta get this right. Because I think we all know that if we decide he’s a threat, we can’t just let him go with a stern warning.”

That silences everyone for a few moments. Some of them exchange troubled glances, others avoid eye contact. Because they all know what Barnes is saying. If Bucky’s a threat, he can’t be allowed to leave the Tower. Not with all that he knows. And their choices narrow down to two very unpleasant options.

Barnes gets up from the table.

“Where are you going?” Tony asks, annoyed.

“I hate meetings. You know that. I’m going to the gym. Think I’ll see if Bucky wants to spar.” Something in his voice, and the look he gives Tony as he says it, is vaguely threatening. Whatever he has in mind, it’s not a simple workout.

“Now, this I gotta see,” Sam smiles.

“No,” Barnes says sharply. “You don’t. Everybody stays the fuck out of the gym until I say different. And Jarvis?”

“Yes, Captain.”

“You broadcast anything from in there and I promise you, I will do shit to your hard drive that’ll make you develop emotions just so you can cry. You feel me?”

“Understood, Captain.”

*****

In the gym, Bucky is standing in front of Barnes, leaning on a rack of hand weights, watching Barnes tape his hands. He’s explained that he tapes his hands because he hates breaking his fingers, which used to happen all the time with Steve. Barnes expects it’ll be the same with Bucky, because Barnes wants a full-on match. Bucky hates broken fingers, too, but it never occurred to him to tape his hands. He considers trying it, but in the end, he doesn’t bother. He’s got other things on his mind.

They’re both uncomfortable, but for very different reasons.

Barnes isn’t at all sure it’s smart to invite a prisoner, a potential spy and a man he knows is dangerous as all hell, to beat the crap out of him if he can. He’s not even sure what he hopes to accomplish. He wonders if this isn’t the biggest mistake he’s made yet as Captain America, and wishes for about the two millionth time today that Steve was here. Steve would advise asking Tony to suit up and stand guard. Barnes is disgusted about twenty-seven ways by the fact that, if Steve were here, he would take that advice and mock Steve the whole time for being a grandma. Because it would be good advice. Barnes is in a world of hurt if Bucky goes off and he has no backup. But he can’t make himself ask Tony to do it. _Shit, how much of his badass reputation is built on nothing more than bitching that he didn’t need Steve to protect him, while Steve took the heat and protected him anyway?_

Bucky, for his part, is struggling to hide his internal chaos. His fight-or-flight response is so powerful right now, it’s almost painful. He can’t shake the persistent warning sparking through his entire body, screaming that this is a trap. If Barnes was Hydra, it would have been. Bucky knows full well what happens when you raise a hand to your captors. It’s all well and good to crush a minion or two on occasion; Hydra had plenty of those. Hydra brass actually thought it was kind of cute when the Asset did that. But Barnes has authority here. He is not a minion. And if Bucky takes the bait and he’s wrong… He stands glowering at the floor, deep lines etched in his face as he endures a waking nightmare as real as it was when it really happened. 

“Hey!” Barnes calls, sharp and loud. 

Bucky’s head jerks up and he damn near responds in Russian. 

“The fuck did you go?” Barnes asks, genuinely concerned. 

But Bucky’s not about to acknowledge the flashback. “I, uh… Nowhere. Tryin’ to figure out what to call you, is all. I ain’t callin’ you Jim.” 

“Says the asshole who calls himself Bucky.” 

Barnes’ grin is actually a little reassuring. It probably shouldn’t be – God knows Bucky could invent some unspeakable tortures if he had a mind to, which means this guy is just as twisted - but it is. 

“Stick with Barnes. It’s what everyone uses, anyway.” 

“Fuck you. That’s _my_ name.” 

“Listen, you got clear title to Bucky, pal. I ain’t goin’ near _that_.” He stands up and motions for Bucky to follow him to the middle of the huge mat covering much of the floor of the gym. 

“So, this sparring, there any rules?” Bucky asks, trying like hell to seem nonchalant. 

“No killing. No destroying the gym, unless you wanna listen to Stark whine. That’s about it.” 

Bucky is absolutely not reassured by that, but he doesn’t get the opportunity to spool up any tighter about it, because the next thing he knows, he’s on his ass on the mat. Barnes has swept his legs out from under him and is just beginning to reach for Bucky’s throat when Bucky’s instincts take over. 

Bucky expected Barnes to reach for his throat. So before he has a chance to get hold of him, Bucky flips to his feet and takes advantage of Barnes’ position to land a left uppercut that sends Barnes flying at least ten feet backward. Bucky rushes him, which Barnes somehow also expects. Stunned but spinning quickly to avoid him, Barnes gets behind Bucky and uses his momentum to throw Bucky headlong into the padded wall several feet away. In two moves, they’ve covered over thirty feet. Suddenly, the gym seems kind of small. 

Bucky springs away from the wall, circling to get himself some room. Barnes circles, too, and the two grin at each other from identical defensive crouches. 

“No killing, don’t bust up the gym. Those really the only two rules?” Bucky asks. 

“Why, you want to add some? Make sure I don’t shame you too bad?” 

“Nope,” Bucky says, grinning evilly. “Just checkin’.” He crosses the distance between them in a blur of speed and grasps Barnes, ready to yeet him into the wall across the room. But Barnes sees it coming and, instead, Bucky’s suddenly on his back with Barnes on top of him, scrambling to get control of his arms. Before he can, Bucky gets a foot under his gut and heaves Barnes six feet in the air and double that backwards. Barnes crashes into the opposite wall, and both of them spring back into their defensive stances. 

The next few minutes are a dizzying kaleidoscope of punches and kicks, interspersed with balletic leaps and a steadily increasing level of trash talk. Barnes can already tell that Bucky is the best opponent he’s ever fought. And Bucky now understands that Barnes’s offer to spar had been legitimate. Neither one of them knows when they start laughing, but it’s early in the fight. 

There’s a lot of punching, but less than you might think, because they’re just too good at predicting each other’s moves. Kicking’s like that, too, but at least there, they each know a few moves the other doesn’t. Both of them get some good body throws in, especially when the other tries to attack, because that, too, is predictable. The intended victim, anticipating it, can use the motion against the attacker. That quickly becomes a little frustrating. They have essentially the same moves. They have the same instincts. They see each other’s next strike coming too easily. Which is why training and technique give way, and their sparring match devolves into a street brawl. 

At some point, Barnes runs Bucky into the rack of hand weights, which goes over in a very loud, very heavy crash. Something’s wrong with Bucky’s left arm after that. It’s also Barnes who throws Bucky into a wall high enough that, as he scrabbles for purchase while he’s falling, Bucky pulls the padding down with him. The custom wooden racks that hold balance balls, yoga mats, foam rolls, jump ropes, and other equipment collapse when Bucky sends Barnes flying into them, face first. That’s also how Barnes’ nose gets broken. 

It’s Bucky who picks up the treadmill to use as a shield but, in his defense, Barnes was the one who threw a fifty-pound hand weight at him, and it would’ve hurt if it had hit him. They know that because it totally destroys the treadmill. They’re both responsible for the destruction of the weight bench, which was not meant for two supersoldiers to land on it simultaneously at full force, arms locked around each other’s necks. But they never do agree whose fault it is that Barnes’s metal arm goes through one of the floor-to-ceiling windows, shattering it. 

So yeah, they only keep the no-killing rule. By the time Barnes gives Jarvis the all-clear to unlock the doors, Tony’s gym is in ruins. Neither of the combatants had expected every single member of the team to come pouring into the room as soon as the locks released, but that’s only because they didn’t realize that the resounding thuds and crashes of their antics could be felt four floors in either direction. 

The team slows, then creeps toward them, gaping at the carnage and peering amongst the debris to determine whether either of them has survived. There’s blood in several places on the fourteen-foot high ceiling, and some of it is in the shape of bodies. There’s wind whistling through the hole in the window, and it’s swaying the few light fixtures that survived, most of which are broken, including the one with a bloody jump rope wrapped around it. The wall padding and the mat on the floor are torn beyond repair, which is fine because those bloodstains aren’t coming out, anyway. The stuffing from inside the mats is _everywhere_. Tony whimpers as he takes in the devastation. 

Bucky’s laid out across the wreck of a machine the whole team uses to do exercises against hydraulic resistance, and Barnes is under what’s left of a rowing machine, somehow tangled up in the plastic scraps of what used to be an exercise ball. They’re both bloody and bruised, each with a few broken bones that they know about. Later, when Bruce insists on full body scans, they’ll discover Barnes also has a cracked femur. They’re sweaty and exhausted, and their identical smiles are gleeful, if bloody, as they gasp for breath. 

“This is why we can’t have nice things,” Tony moans. 

Both Barnes and Bucky cackle maniacally, before Bucky coughs wetly and groans. 

“Bucky,” Bruce says tentatively, like he’s talking to a spooked animal. “That red under you, is that blood, or another burst exercise ball?” 

Bucky groans again, before answering thickly, “Prob’ly blood. Don’t tell Barnes, but I got one of these bars through my chest.” 

Bruce and Marya rush to him while Barnes begins laughing hysterically. “You got stabbed by that thing? What a _pussy_!” 

“Yeah, you might wanna reserve judgment, there, Captain Oblivious,” Clint drawls, indicating Barnes’s leg. 

Barnes looks down to see that one of the oarlocks of the rowing machine has been broken from its mounting and is embedded in the meat of his left thigh. “ _Dammit_!” He shrieks. 

Now it’s Bucky laughing hysterically. 

Bruce, perhaps a little affected by the depth of Tony’s enraged despair at the state of his gym, is uncharacteristically autocratic about medical care for both Barnes and Bucky. He gives them no options, but orders the rest of the team to help him strap them both to gurneys and haul them to the medical floor. 

Over time, Marya’s learned to live with her terror of anything medical, developed as a result of her time as Hydra’s expendable soldier, slave, and experimental subject. One of the ways Bruce has helped her do that is to teach her to assist him. She’s gotten to the point where she doesn’t mind providing medical care, although she still dreads and resists receiving it. When they reach the large trauma room on the medical floor, Bruce begins to bark instructions to her. 

Barnes tries to object. “Not happening, Banner. Get Sam to help you. I don’t want Marya in here with him.” 

Seeing Marya look to Bruce, Barnes cries, “Don’t look at him. You don’t answer to him, you answer to me.” 

“Not in here, she doesn’t,” Bruce says mildly. “Marya, get an IV started, too.” 

Barnes argues and threatens for a while, as Bruce and Marya ignore him. Bruce conducts scans while Marya assesses wounds and administers first aid. 

“This is insubordination,” Barnes mutters grumpily as she cuts off his shorts to get to the large wound the broken oarlock has made in his thigh. 

“I know, Captain,” she coos sympathetically. “You’ll feel better once the morphine starts to work.” 

Bucky watches her hungrily. He’s in significant pain, but he’s long ago learned how to ignore that. He waits impatiently while she cleans and bandages Barnes’s leg, wanting her to come back and stand next to him, to touch him again. He’s drowsy from the pain medication Bruce has given him, and unaware of the goofy, dreamy smile on his face as he follows Marya with his eyes. 

Barnes sees it, though, and scowls. He only relaxes when Bucky’s eyes drift closed as the morphine takes a hold of him. 

“I don’t know if you are my Sergeant, but you are definitely James Barnes,” Marya scolds Bucky as she cuts his shirt from his body, jolting him back to consciousness. 

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Barnes asks from the other exam table. 

“Nothing complimentary,” Marya mutters. 

Bucky grins at her. “It’s worth it, getting my ass kicked, to get to see you.” 

“So you admit I kicked your ass!” Barnes shouts. 

“Shut up and quit moving,” Bruce rebukes him. “You’re blurring my scans.” 

Marya’s hands are firm and sure as she begins to clean and examine the stab wound in Bucky’s chest. He likes the practiced way she goes about her work, and the adorable wrinkles between her eyebrows as she concentrates. 

“I need something to call you,” she says, glancing up from her work to look into his eyes. “I will not call you Sergeant, so I suppose I’ll have to call you Bucky.” 

“But you said-“ 

“I said that I could not call the _Zimniy Soldat_ Bucky. But I don’t know that you are the _Zimniy Soldat_.” 

“That makes a weird kind of sense.” 

“One of us should have some. The two of you clearly don’t.” 

Bucky’s grin widens and he feels a bloom of warmth in his chest that has nothing to do with the hole in his flesh and everything to do with the fondly exasperated look she’s giving him. 

“This chest wound is going to take a few layers of stitching,” Marya tells Bruce over her shoulder. “I’ll get everything ready for you.” 

“Don’t knock me out, though,” Bucky pleads. “If this is the only time they’ll let me see you, I want to be awake.” 

“Knock him the hell out,” Barnes growls. 

Unfortunately for Bucky, Bruce insists on sedating him as he repairs the stab wound. Although Bucky will heal even without it, this universe’s Bruce is just as stubborn about proper medical care as the one from Bucky’s universe. Which means his time with Marya is cut disappointingly short. 

*****

Bruce requires both Barnes and Bucky to remain on the medical floor overnight. Once their injuries are treated and they’re stable, Bruce puts them both in one large room. Since there are six private rooms on the floor, everyone is perfectly aware that making them share is punishment for their reckless stupidity in injuring each other and destroying the gym. Both Barneses realize, too late, that they should have hidden the fact that it had been so much fun.

Tony backs Barnes in requiring that Marya leave the medical floor now that the regular medical staff have arrived. Bucky’s disappointed, but not surprised. 

As evening falls, there’s really nothing to do while they heal except talk. The longer the groggy, intermittent conversation goes, the clearer it is to Bucky that something’s changed between them. Barnes is willing to be much more open with him than any of them have been thus far. He would attribute some of that to morphine, except that he knows how good he, himself, is at keeping his mouth shut, even when under the influence of something. 

“It’s not getting better. We’re basically putting out fires,” Barnes was saying. “They call themselves the Ten Rings. Run by some shithead calls himself The Mandarin. Slippery fucker. Absolutely ruthless. Nat almost caught up with him once, but he ghosted. Haven’t gotten close since.” 

“That sucks.” 

Barnes’s face went hard. “Doesn’t matter. Because if it’s the last thing I do, I gotta take them down. Especially that Mandarin motherfucker.” Barnes hisses, “He’s the one who killed Steve.” 

Bucky can see that Barnes’s rage is never far below the surface. “What, exactly, happened?” 

“Ask someone else, man,” Barnes sighs. “I don’t wanna talk about that.” 

“Yeah. I get it.” 

There’s a lull then, the air thick with memories as cherished as they are excruciating. After a while, Barnes practically whispers, “We were married, anyone tell you that?” 

“Fuck! No.” 

“Yeah. Dumbass finally says yes, then he gets himself killed.” 

“Shit, I’m sorry.” 

“Yeah.” 

They go quiet again, the ghost of Steve Rogers palpable between them as they both remember, and ache. It’s a therapeutic, in a way, just sitting here, grieving together the man they’ve both loved since they knew what love was. The man they both still love with a savage, tormented violence. Different though the circumstances were, they can each still fully understand the other’s grief at losing him. They’re not talkers. They don’t want, need, or even know how to speak their sorrow. But as they lie there, lost for the moment in pain, they somehow realize that in this bizarre situation, there’s also absolutely no need. To tell each other how they feel would be redundant. 

An hour goes by in total silence. Barnes is the first to break it, and it’s clear his thoughts have returned to the Ten Rings threat. “Thing is, without Steve, we got even less chance than we had before, and we were already fucked. They get bolder every damn time.” 

Bucky catches the thread immediately. “Yeah, I noticed there are a lot of terrorist attacks here. Lot more than in my universe.” 

“Yeah?” 

“By maybe a factor of ten. First thing I saw when I crash-landed here was that blown-out resort in Singapore.” 

“Yeah, that was them. The Ten Rings. They wanted to disrupt Singapore’s economy.” 

“Seems to have worked, if the exchange rate is any indication.” 

“Oh, it worked, all right. _Bastards_.” 

“I wish I could help you. I was jealous as hell when you guys flew off on your mission. Haven’t felt that in a while.” 

“What, you lose interest in fighting? After Steve?” 

“Lost interest in livin’, pal. Sorry to be so blunt.” 

“Nah. Don’t apologize. If I didn’t have those morons upstairs... I wouldn’t have gotten through this last year without them. Didn’t want to. They dragged me back to life, kicking and screaming. I don’t know how you did it without them.” 

There's no shred of doubt or pretense in Barnes’s voice, and he's looking at Bucky as he says it. Bucky’s eyes fly open and he turns to Barnes. “You believe me.” 

“I believe that you’re another me somehow. That multiverse thing’s as good a reason as any, I guess. And Stark says it’s theoretically possible. I believe you’re telling the truth about what you’ve been through." Barnes frowns and hesitates before saying, "Do I believe you’re the me that Marya knew? I don’t know. I just… I don’t know. And that’s the thing. She’s such a part of things here, I can’t take the risk that you’re not. I know what she’s capable of. I know how she feels about her Sergeant, and I also know there’s nothing she won’t do for someone she’s loyal to.” 

Bucky grins. “Not to mention how polite and respectful of authority she is, all the while she’s disobeying your direct orders behind your back.” 

“And she’s so fucking sweet about it you can’t stand to discipline her.” 

“Even when she tells you to your face she’d do it again.” 

Barnes and Bucky shake their heads, identical fond smiles on their faces as they roll their eyes in unison. 

“That’s one of the reasons Stark leads the team, you know. Some people think that role should go with the shield. I don’t. It should go to the one most capable, and Stark’s been here since the beginning. That’s the main reason, but… Not gonna lie, Marya’s another. He can say no to her, enforce consequences when she steps out of line. Me, I just …” Barnes huffs a laugh and shrugs helplessly. 

And that’s when Bucky realizes that Barnes is in love with Marya.


	15. Confidences

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bucky and Marya do some sparring so she can see whether she'll recognize how he fights. Barnes is not happy, especially when they end up having a great time. Barnes and Bucky share some confidences. Marya goes to Bucky's quarters to ask about the Troops, and they end up having a long talk.

Both Barnes and Bucky are off the medical floor after one day, and back to normal after a week.

It takes only a few days for Tony to replace the gym. It will be much longer than that before Tony stops _complaining_ about having to replace the gym. He tells Barnes and Bucky that the new gym exists only because the other Avengers asked for it and need it, and that the next items they damage will be the last, because if they ever break anything in there again, so help him, blah, blah, blah.

The biggest change, however, is that after that, Bucky is no longer restricted to his cell. In fact, he’s moved into other quarters, real quarters, where he isn’t monitored and none of the walls is a transparent barrier. He’s still restricted as to where he can go in the tower, but his choices are much wider now and include the common areas of the residences and even the landing platform. 

He knows this new freedom is Barnes’s doing. He also knows that neither Tony Stark nor Natasha Romanoff approve. For whatever reason, though, Tony has chosen not to use his authority to prohibit it.

Bucky doesn’t push it. Instead of trying to engage the team members, he waits for them to approach him. He hasn’t been invited to join any team meals, but that doesn’t mean he’s alone much. Sam, Clint, and Bruce have declared their belief that he is trustworthy, that he is who he says he is. They act accordingly. The four of them, usually along with Barnes, work out and have frequent meals together. They spend quite a bit of leisure time together, as well. Bucky’s told them about their counterparts in his universe, and they’ve confirmed that their lives are pretty much the same here, which gives Bucky a welcome, comfortable sense of familiarity. In fact, he’s becoming closer to them in this universe than he ever was in his. _Than you ever bothered to be_ , he tells himself. In many ways, this feels like a second chance. A chance to get it right. 

Still, he has a long way to go. Although Bucky is welcome in Bruce’s lab, both Tony and Barnes are blunt about the fact that, if he’s ever found in there alone, things will get ugly fast. The same is true of any of the places he’s still forbidden to go. 

It hurts to be an outsider in this familiar setting, with these people he cares so much for. It especially hurts to be so close to Tony and Natasha again, but to have them openly mistrustful, even hostile sometimes. Bucky tries to be patient, to remind himself that they’re protecting themselves, and each other, as they should. He gives them all the slack he can. It helps to remember that he would do the same thing. In fact, he knows that he would be far more suspicious than these guys are. These Avengers never knew Hydra. Because they haven’t lived through the experiences that his Avengers have, they aren’t hard like he is. Like Steve was. Even Marya is hard, in her way. It’s a large part of the reason she still can’t believe he is who he is. 

He doesn’t know what these Avengers will do if they decide he’s a threat. But knows that the team from his universe, including Marya, would kill him. They’d have to.

Bucky thinks that’s why Marya’s been so compliant with the restrictions on her ability to see him. Because he can see she’s struggling with them. She watches him. Although the Avengers make sure that he never gets too close to her, he feels her eyes on him constantly whenever they’re in the same room. Just as he’s entirely aware of her. And when she is allowed to talk to him - always with team members close by - she talks _only_ to him. It’s everywhere in her body language and he can hear it in her voice: she wants to be closer to him. Only her loyalty to the team, and her deference to Stark’s and Barnes’s authority are holding her back. That, and her loyalty to the Sergeant Barnes she is in love with, whom she can’t be sure is the one now claiming to be him.

The new gym has some upgrades from the old. For one thing, the new equipment is even heavier-duty. Bucky thinks that might be a subtle fuck you from Tony, but he appreciates it anyway. He knows Barnes does, too. They both know the frustration of not being able to train full-out because no equipment can withstand the punishment an enhanced supersoldier can deliver. It’s nice to use a heavy bag that will actually survive an entire workout. 

This morning, he and Barnes are side by side, punching and kicking at some new training dummies that are supposed to be the most durable ever made. It was a little hard, getting started, because they both kept laughing, thinking about how they’d destroyed the old ones during their calamitous sparring match, in what basically boiled down to a really strange version of jousting. One of the old dummies had ended up embedded in the ceiling, which Tony had threatened to leave there as a reminder of their bad behavior. The only reason he hadn’t was that they both wanted him to. 

Jarvis is putting Barnes and Bucky through training drills, using a program that was designed especially for Steve and Barnes. Jarvis calls out the strikes they’re to deliver to the training dummies: crosses, uppercuts, roundhouse kicks, hook kicks... In this universe, both Steve and Barnes had been chosen for Project Rebirth, which means that they both had the same need for a training regimen that was simply not possible for an unenhanced person. This program delivers it. The serum Hydra gave Bucky and Marya was similar enough that both of them can do the program, too, although Bucky is working harder right now than Barnes is. Marya, as a woman, simply doesn’t have the strength the men do, but she has more stamina. She can’t destroy the training dummy as quickly, but she can keep going with the program longer. 

Today, though, Marya is not training with Barnes and Bucky. At Barnes’s insistence, she’s across the gym with Clint, spotting one another as they do gymnastics. Which puts her behind Barnes and Bucky, so Barnes can’t see her greedily watching Bucky. But Clint can.

“C’mon, kid,” he complains. “Pay attention so I don’t fall on my pretty face.”

“I’m sorry, Clint. I’ll do better.”

Clint leans in and speaks sympathetically, too quietly for supersoldier hearing to pick up so far across the room. “You better. Barnes catches you ogling Bucky like that, he’s gonna forbid you to see him at all. You know that’s what Tony wants him to do.”

Little frown lines between Marya’s eyebrows deepen as she looks between the supersoldiers and Clint. “Actually, it’s not quite what you think. I was thinking that maybe I should spar with Bucky. My Sergeant and I used to spar; it could be a way to test whether it’s really him. I will recognize how he fights, things we taught each other.”

Clint raises an eyebrow. “You know, for an excuse, that’s not half bad.”

“It’s not an excuse.”

“Sure it is,” Clint winks. “But I’m on your side. His side, too, for that matter. Let’s go talk to Barnes.”

“I don’t think so, Marya. Too dangerous,” Barnes says, toweling sweat from his hair.

“Don’t you think I can protect myself?”

“I know you can protect yourself. Not that kind of dangerous.”

Right on cue, Bucky watches that adorable stubborn look come over Marya’s face. “How, exactly, do you expect him to hypnotize me or seduce me or whatever, while I’m punching him and throwing him around?”

Barnes laughs, although he’s well aware she’s not exactly making a joke. “We’ve had this conversation.”

“C’mon, Barnes,” Clint urges. “Let them try it. What if she’s right? You said fighting with him is how you knew he was you. Maybe fighting is how she’ll be able to tell if he’s the right you.” 

Barnes sighs in disgust, muttering, “When do I start having all this authority I was supposed to get as Captain America?” 

“Good man!” Clint smiles hugely and claps him on the back. 

“No talking,” Barnes growls at Bucky and Marya. “Just spar.”

“No talking?” Bucky mocks. “I never met anyone talks as much as you do during a fight. Well, one guy, but he’s just a kid.”

“Take it or leave it.”

“We’ll take it,” Marya announces, turning decisively toward the sparring mat as Bucky watches Barnes react to the “we”. _Oof. Poor fucker. _  
__

Bucky follows her, more slowly, Clint and Barnes a few steps behind. They come to stand next to a padded wall, six feet or so from where Marya and Bucky square off. 

“How do you wanna start?” Bucky asks, suddenly feeling a little awkward, although he’s looking forward to this. He takes a moment to re-wrap the low ponytail holding his hair back.

“Just start. Come at me.”

Bucky finishes with his hair, shrugs and, without warning, lunges at Marya. She jumps at the last instant, placing her hands on his shoulders and pushing off, so that he ends up grabbing thin air, and she vaults over him, twisting to land behind him, facing him. Before he has a chance to catch himself and turn around, she’s on him, tripping him with a foot around his ankle and grabbing his right wrist as he falls, so that he lands face down with her on top of him, one knee on the mat, the other on the back of his neck, and his right arm twisted behind him.

Barnes and Clint grin. Bucky laughs out loud.

“That’s new!”

“Yes, it is,” she smiles. “Clint’s.”

She lets Bucky up and he salutes Clint. “Nice.”

“Again,” Barnes grunts.

This time, Bucky tells Marya to attack. She starts with a flying kick, but he catches her leg, pushing so that her momentum goes to the side. He’s just about to grab her around the middle when she uses the momentum from his push to twist out of his reach. She lands, briefly, and jumps toward him, throwing all of her weight against him and knocking him backward. While he’s off balance, she sweeps his feet out from under him. She’s on top of him as soon as he crashes to the floor, kneeling on his chest, her hands around his throat. 

Clint and Barnes once again chuckle, but Marya isn’t smiling. She’s mad. She stands and moves away, not even helping Bucky up. When he’s standing, she says, “Really? If I wanted a sparring dummy, I’d use one.”

Clint and Barnes begin to laugh, but recognize quickly that she’s not trash talking, because her posture is angry, and Bucky looks sheepish.

“Sorry,” he says. “Forgot how much you hate someone taking it easy on you.”

That answer seems to satisfy her, and she nods in acceptance. Her frown lines disappear, although she doesn’t smile. In fact, she cocks her head and smirks a little as she says, “You said you want to prove you’re my Sergeant. So, prove it.”

“I don’t want to hurt you,” Bucky says, and it’s anybody’s guess whether he’s needling her back.

“I’m not worried about it,” she responds, and _that_ is definitely a jab.

He starts moving, stalking really, and she goes into a defensive crouch, waiting to see what he’ll do. She circles as they get close to the wall, and he continues to simply come at her. Barnes knows what he’s doing, but apparently Marya doesn’t, because she goes for what she thinks is a surprise attack, crouching low and trying to get under his center of gravity so she can knock him off his feet. He simply catches her and stands up. The next thing she knows, he’s holding her by her torso, one arm across her hips and one across her chest. She’s upside-down, and can’t really do much of anything.

She tries kicking her legs, using her weight to pull herself out of his arms, but he’s much too strong. Her position is undignified as hell, and he’s laughing, so she does the only thing she can do. 

She kicks him, hard, in the face. 

It would work on a normal man, but Bucky’s enhanced, and he’s also no stranger to pain. A bloody nose isn’t such a big deal. He’d prefer not to have her do it again, though, so he lets go with one arm and wraps it around her thighs, falling to the mat as he twists her right-side-up, and ends up lying full-length on top of her. It knocks the breath out of her with a hard grunt, and she struggles beneath him, but there’s nothing she can do to escape. She can’t breathe, and he’s simply too heavy.

After lying there just long enough to make it clear that she’s pinned, he lifts some of his weight onto his arms so that she can breathe.

“You OK?”

“You’re… bleeding on… me,” she gasps.

“Whose fault is that?”

“No talking!” Barnes shouts, and moves in. He kneels down to help Marya sit up, although she grumbles that she can get up by herself. 

Bucky just sits nearby, smiling and holding the hem of his T-shirt to his bloody nose. Clint steps over, grinning, and hands him a towel. 

“Thanks, man,” Bucky grunts. 

Marya turns toward him, frowning at his smile. His stomach does a little flip-flop. She’s never been a particularly gracious loser, and he’d forgotten how fucking cute it is.

“You wanna go again?” He asks.

“Yes!”

Barnes puts a hand on her shoulder. “Marya…”

“Captain, don’t baby me. I’m not the one who is bleeding, am I?”

Barnes shrugs and stands, extending a hand to help her up.

Bucky and Marya go back to the center of the mat, while Clint and Barnes resume their places by the wall. Marya looks crookedly at Bucky then, a calculating gleam in her eye. “Drax the Destroyer?”

For a moment, Bucky blinks stupidly. Then, just as Marya’s face begins to fall, his mind clicks onto what she’s talking about. He realizes it’s a test, and also realizes, joyfully, that he’s about to pass it. Bucky cocks his head. “You sure? You never could defend that.”

She likes that answer. “Try it now.”

He goes down to one knee and extends his right arm. She grins maliciously as she steps over to him, circling until she is behind him with her left arm around his neck, taking his wrist and gently moving his arm until it is twisted behind his back. He wraps his left hand around her arm. 

“Ready?” He asks.

“Whenever you-“

And with that, he twists to his left, into her, taking his left hand from her arm at his neck and plunging it between them to encircle her left calf. The twist yanks his right arm from her grip and suddenly, instead of her holding his wrist, he’s holding hers. From there, he simply pushes to his feet and he’s holding her by her right arm and her left leg over his shoulder. For a moment, it seems as though he has her in a hold she can’t escape, and can either toss her to the floor or simply carry her away, whichever he chooses. But his victory is short-lived, because he gets careless, thinking she still can’t escape this hold. 

He’s about to make fun of her when she yanks her wrist as hard as she can. He’s made the mistake of relaxing his arm, but he’s not so unaware that he doesn’t immediately clamp his hand harder around it. It doesn’t matter, though, because she’s pulled their arms up far enough that she can get her elbow over his head. Since she twists her body as she does it, she ends up hanging with all her weight at an angle that means he can’t keep hold of her in his left arm. Essentially, she’s snaked out of his hold and is suddenly standing, with his hand holding her wrist, and easily gets under him to throw him over her shoulder and to the floor. 

She moves to run a few steps, thinking to turn and resume a defensive stance but his hand streaks out, whip-fast, and grabs her ankle. She falls forward. He scrambles to his hands and knees and frog-leaps to land on top of her, but she’s had time to flip over, so his chest meets her foot, her leg bent between them. She pushes him back and to the side, off of her, and rolls away. Again, she leaps to her feet and tries to put some distance between them. He kicks himself to standing in one move. She’s faster, but he’s taller with longer arms, so he catches her only a few feet away, before she has time to get far enough away to turn around and defend. 

He doesn’t stop once he gets hold of her, but keeps his forward momentum going, with both arms wrapped tightly around her torso, continuing on until she’s pressed between him and the padded wall. It’s an easy matter to slide his arms up her body so that he catches her arms, and pins them above her head against the wall. His knee is between her legs, pressing against the wall, and again his weight is too much for her to push off and escape. He’s been around this particular block, his other foot is far enough back that she can’t stomp his instep or kick his calf hard enough to hurt. Much. 

They’re breathing hard, he’s pressing his torso full-length against hers, and suddenly he doesn’t particularly want to move. Ever. He leans his head down to whisper in her ear.

“Give up?”

“Fuck you,” she spits, and tries every kick, twist, and bend she can think of. Nothing works. 

That feels pretty good, too, so he just keeps her there, letting her wriggle around and try to break his hold or push him off of her. Or whatever else she wants to do, really, as long as he can keep his nose in her hair and breathe in the achingly familiar scent of her, feel her gasping underneath him again.

“How about now?” He asks after a minute, smiling now.

“You are a terrible winner,” she grunts, still struggling to find a way to free herself, but he can hear the smile in her voice. 

“And you’re a terrible loser,” he purrs into her ear. “Which is why I let you win so much.”

She has the expected reaction to that, and he enjoys a few more minutes of feeling her writhing between him and the wall. He starts to be concerned that, in a minute, things are going to make Barnes even more unhappy about this than he already is.

She stops moving and lets out a frustrated “Aaaaugh!”

“Is that a ‘You win’?” He can’t resist murmuring that, low and soft.

“Yes, damn you.”

He lets her wrists go and steps back, but only far enough so that she can turn around. When she does, she’s smiling ear to ear. “You fight like him.”

“I am him,” he says smugly, moving back in so they are almost chest to chest.

She cocks her head, looking into his eyes with a delighted expression. “Then you won’t be surprised when you look down.”

When he does, he sees that she’s holding a rubber practice knife to his belly.

“You still fight dirty.”

She shrugs happily.

Suddenly, without any intention of doing it, he takes her into his arms and lifts her off her feet, laughing and twirling them around, away from the wall. She throws her arms around his neck, squeezing tightly and laughing just as hard.

“Knock it off!” Barnes’s voice cuts through the moment. 

In three long strides, he’s standing between them as they spring apart. He’s scowling at both of them with barely-contained anger. “Go take a shower, Marya,” he snarls.

“Yes, Captain.” 

As Marya backs away from them, Bucky sees cold reality slam back down on her. She’s no longer joyful. Instead, she’s looking at him with, if possible, even more fear than on the day he’d arrived here. He’s just come very close to putting something over on her, from which Barnes has narrowly saved her, and the idea terrifies her. That look, by itself, would probably have been devastating.

But Bucky’s not devastated. Not at all. Because that fear doesn’t cover the desire that is equally evident in her face. Barnes sees it, too. It’s the reason he’s so angry. This time, Bucky does recognize hope when he feels it.

Both Barnes and Bucky watch Marya until she’s made it all the way across the floor and out the door, with Clint on her heels.

As they disappear from sight, Barnes turns on Bucky. “You fucking prick,” he hisses.

“What’d _I_ do?”

“You’re supposed to be me, right? You think I don’t recognize my own moves? I’m not gonna let you use her for whatever your game is. That’s the last time you see her.”

“I don’t have a game. You know that. That’s not what you’re upset about. You’re in love with her.”

“Shut the fuck up. I ain’t talkin’ to you about that.”

“Who better to talk about it with? I’m you, dude.”

Barnes gives an ugly laugh. “You’re clearly not me. She loves you.”

_Oh._

“So she doesn’t…”

“I told you to shut the fuck up about it.” Barnes starts across the floor toward the locker room and Bucky falls in beside him.

“I’m sorry. That’s gotta hurt.”

“Fuck you.”

“So what’s the problem? Is it because of Steve?”

“No, genius, it isn’t because of Steve. It’s because of _you_.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means Marya loves some version of me who ain’t me, and I got no idea how I’m supposed to compete with myself. What even _is_ that? Why wouldn’t that mean she can’t help but love me?” It’s clear it’s not even close to the first time Barnes has asked himself these questions.

Bucky tries to be gentle. “I think you know the answer to that, Ace.”

“Because she’s the most loyal woman who ever breathed? Yeah, I figured that out. Doesn’t mean it makes any sense. She knows she won’t ever get back to her universe. As far as she knows, her Sergeant is with Steve, and that’s where he belongs.”

“I don’t think that’s how she works.”

“Tell me about it,” Barnes sighs. They don’t say anything more until they reach the locker room entrance. “I don’t know, man. Maybe it’s for the best. Not sure I’m ever gonna get over Steve, anyway.”

Bucky claps a hand on Barnes’s shoulder.

“I’m actually kinda surprised you can,” Barnes continues. “Yours left you. That’s gotta be worse, in a way.”

“I don’t know. Maybe it’s just… different. Least I know he’s alive. Probably happy. That matters to me, in the short intervals where I don’t wanna rip him into bloody shreds.”

Barnes actually laughs at that, heavy with emotion though the laugh is. “Shit, do I know that one. Never been one minute where I didn’t wanna punch his lights out and fuck him senseless at the same time.”

They reach out simultaneously to open lockers, and Bucky gives a low, lascivious laugh. Barnes looks over to see Bucky’s cocked eyebrow and evil grin, and grins conspiratorially back.

“Yeah, us too. You gotta be the only person who’d ever understand that.”

“Hot as hell, right?”

“Damn straight. We broke bones a few times; still fucked him into the mattress.”

“Same,” Bucky says, and they laugh quietly, both falling into similar pleasant memories.

*****

Late that evening, Bucky’s lying on the couch in his apartment, a book forgotten on his chest while he stares blindly at the ceiling, remembering the way Marya felt against him, the way she smelled. The way she looked at him when they were sparring. It’s almost painful, the constriction he feels in his chest as he remembers her deep brown eyes, dancing with mischief, and the feeling of utter joy that washed over him as he picked her up and felt her arms clasp him. It’s not sexual. OK, it’s totally sexual. But it’s so much broader and deeper than that. Bucky realizes, lying in this Stark Tower that isn’t Avengers Tower, that he is not the same man who left that other universe. That man didn’t care if he lived or died, because he was already pretty much dead, anyway. 

But he’s alive now. He’s alive and he wants to be a part of this group of Avengers. He wants to care again, and have people care about him. He wants to fight again, to be part of protecting good people from bad ones. And he wants Marya. 

He knows it’s her when he hears a knock at his door. He smiles. He doesn’t know whether she’s there to kiss him or kill him. He’d prefer kissing, of course, but he’s got time. For now, he’ll take either one. 

When he opens the door, he’s pleasantly surprised to see that she’s calm and, although not exactly smiling, she isn’t looking at him like she had in the gym, either. 

“Everything OK?” He asks.

“Yes. I just came because…” She hesitates. “I would like to ask you for something.”

“Of course.” Bucky moves aside, inviting her in, and his heart beats just a little faster when he sees her accept. When he indicates the couch in silent invitation, Marya takes a seat and he sits, too, turned toward her but not touching.

She begins quietly. “I would like you to tell me about my brothers and sisters. I know it may all be lies, but you said that they were well. I’ve decided that I want to hear stories about them being well, even if they are lies. I want to know about my true brother.” She looks up at him. “Will you tell me about Dmitriy?”

“Marya, of course I will. And it won’t be lies. I know you don’t believe that yet, but it just… feels like I should say it.”

She nods and her lips lift a little in a small, regretful smile. “If you are my Sergeant, I can’t imagine what it is like for you, that I doubt you.”

“Doesn’t feel good, that’s for sure. But I knew this wasn’t going to be easy.”

“It is hard for me, too. Very hard.”

“I know. I’m sorry. For what it’s worth, it’s smart to be careful. You and I know better than anyone here how smart that is. We knew Hydra.”

“Do you suppose they will ever stop spoiling our lives?”

Bucky shrugs philosophically. “They say the best revenge is living well. We gotta keep tryin’ to give them the finger by being happy.”

Marya gives him a real smile this time. “Yes. Let’s do that. And tell me about my brothers and sisters giving Hydra the finger, too.”

An hour later, Bucky has barely stopped talking. He’s told Marya all that he can think of about the progress the Troops have made on their Compound, and in learning to live in the world. It’s gratifying to see her laugh, and the love and joy shining on her face as she learns how well the Troops, her only family, are doing. She’s also cried a little, too. These are the people she was raised with, people with whom she endured slavery and torture, and for whom she willingly sacrificed her life. She misses them fiercely and constantly, knowing she will never see any of them again. She loves them so much that she can only express through tears her happiness that they’re truly living now, enjoying and making full use of their freedom. 

“I am so grateful, Sergeant. I am so grateful to Mr. Stark, and to Dr. Banner and Natasha, and all of you. I want so much to see their Compound. To see my brothers and sisters living free, without having to be afraid, I would give a lot for that.”

Bucky doesn’t miss her calling him Sergeant. But even though it sends lightning shocks through every nerve in his body, he manages not to react. Not yet.

“It’s not perfect,” he tells her. They have bad memories, and guilt… They deal with all of the things you and I do. But they’re making a life. And you’d be so proud of Dmitriy.” Bucky smiles and begins to tell Marya stories about her brother’s life as leader of the Compound, many of which lovingly make fun of him, but most of which are very complimentary. Bucky’s deep affection for Dmitriy is obvious as he talks.

At one point, Marya narrows her eyes. “Did you and Dmitriy…”

Her question is answered immediately by the look on his face and the change in his posture.

“It didn’t go very far.” To Bucky’s relief, she doesn’t ask why. For many reasons, he doesn’t explain, either.

“Good. I would be very angry with you if you fell in love with my brother.”

“In my defense, you were dead.”

“As you can see, I am not dead. And it would make me very jealous.”

“You weren’t jealous of Steve,” Bucky prods.

“Of course I was jealous of Captain Rogers! I am a very jealous woman, Sergeant. I didn’t try to stand between you because he was the one you loved. But if you don’t think I was jealous, then you are a fool. Besides, Captain Rogers is not my brother.”

“Well, you don’t need to worry. Dmitriy is a very good friend, end of story.”

Bucky notices the second time Marya slips and calls him Sergeant. He’s surprised she can’t see how that affects him.

“Marya, can I ask you a personal question? There’s something I don’t get. Me and Barnes, we’re the same guy. And we’re the guy you were in love with in your universe. So why aren’t you and he…?”

“Captain Barnes is very important to me. I love him very much.”

“Do you… are you in love with him?”

Marya’s eyes go distant and a sadness creeps into her expression. “No. He was married to Captain Rogers when I arrived. It was right, and they were so happy... And then, when Captain Rogers was killed… For a while, we took turns staying with him, because he was so broken. We were afraid for him.”

“I notice he’s especially protective of you, too.”

“Yes, he is. I like it. And I thought, for a while, that maybe we could… But no.”

“Why not?”

“He is not my Sergeant.”

“But if you can never get back to your Sergeant, and you think your Sergeant is with Steve, anyway…?”

“I know, but Captain Barnes… is not my Sergeant. Anyway, he is worthy of more than being some sort of substitute.”

They simply sit there together for a while, thinking their own thoughts in silence.

“It’s difficult, this being in a different universe,” Marya muses. “Some things are exactly the same, and some things are very different. I get surprised by it, still, sometimes. And I miss everyone very much.”

“There are good things, though. Here, Tony and Natasha are still alive.”

“Yes, they are gone in your universe. And if that is my universe as well…”

Bucky hears a catch in Marya’s breath and looks to see tears welling in her eyes.

“I know,” he says quietly and, as naturally as breathing, puts an arm around her to hug her to him. They both stiffen for a moment, but she doesn’t move away. 

“I know that my Mr. Stark would do what yours did. He was heroic, even though he pretended not to be.”

“He was a lot of things. Complex guy, Tony Stark. But yeah. When it came down to it...”

Marya nods. “I think Agent Romanoff would be proud of herself. I am sorry for Mr. Barton, though. I think her death must have been very hard on him.”

“So he’s Clint here and Mr. Barton there?”

She flicks a somewhat surprised look at him, but all she says is, “He will not let me call him Mr. Barton here. And Sam will not let me call him Mr. Wilson.”

“Didn’t in our universe, either,” Bucky notes, and again sees something in her eyes.

“No, he didn’t. Was Mr. Barton all right, after Agent Romanoff’s death?”

“You wouldn’t have wanted to see it, Marya. Guy was heartbroken. Barely said three words to any of us after that. We were all glad he had his family to go home to, ‘cause the life just went out of him.”

“I’m sorry for that. I hope he is happy now.”

“I don’t know that he’s happy. Not yet. He doesn’t communicate with us, but Laura, his wife, sent word that he’s all right.”

“So much loss,” Marya whispers, then turns to look up into Bucky’s face. “No wonder you are so sad.”

“I’m not sad,” Bucky tells her, and his voice has gone as quiet as hers. “Not anymore. Not really.”

They look at each other for a long time, sitting next to one another with his arm still laid loosely across her shoulders. Marya sits up a little to move closer so that she can study his face. She’s frowning as she touches his forehead, running a fingertip lightly up and down the frown lines between his eyebrows. “You still look sad. And so tired. I can see that you have been miserable. That hurts me. I don’t want you to be sad.”

“No matter who I am?” He teases softly.

“I know that you are James Barnes. That is enough. Captain Barnes is not my Sergeant, but his unhappiness hurts me, too. I do not want there to be pain in that beautiful face.” She lays her hand full on his cheek, looking into his eyes.

“I wish you could believe that I’m your Sergeant. I wish I could help you believe that.”

“I do, too.” Marya’s breath catches again. “I want him with me. I miss him so much.”

Wanting to lighten the mood, Bucky cocks an eyebrow. “You have two of us right here, Marya. Gotta tell ya’, wanting another one, that seems kind of greedy.”

Marya doesn’t laugh. If anything, she’s closer to tears. “A room full would not be enough. I don’t just want any Sergeant Barnes. I want _him_. I want _mine_.”

“You got me, sweetheart,” Bucky assures her, pulling her closer. “I’m right here. I wish you could believe that. I don’t like to see you hurting, either.”

“I should know whether you are him or not! I thought that, no matter what, I would just _feel_ it.”

“Well, you _are_ right here in my arms. You can’t stay away from me, even though you’re under direct orders not to come here.”

“Yes, but that is just because I don’t _know_.”

“Is it?” Bucky asks, tipping her face up with a finger. “Or is it because you _do_ know?”

Marya freezes, looking up into his eyes. There’s a flicker of fear in her gaze.

Bucky takes her hand, and she lets him. He lifts it to his lips, and softly kisses the tops of her fingers. “I’m sorry. That wasn’t fair. I’ll wait until you’re sure, no matter how long it takes. I love you, Marya.”

Her deep brown eyes bore into his, searching the blue depths as though the answer is there, if she can only find it. She’s conflicted, that’s clear. The longing that he first heard in her voice the day he arrived, and that he’s been able to see on her face in unguarded moments since, is undisguised in this moment. Right now, alone together with his arm around her, she’s letting him see it, communicating it to him rather than trying to hide it. Asking him to help her give in to it. 

Bucky tightens his arm around her, pulling her closer as he leans in, making it clear that he intends to kiss her. Marya tilts her head and he sees her close her eyes just before he does. His lips are so close to hers that he imagines he can already feel the warmth of them when she suddenly sucks in her breath and backs away.

“No, I can’t…” she gasps, pushing against his chest as, quickly and unsteadily, she gets to her feet.

“Please, I’m sorry, I know I shouldn’t have…” Bucky reaches out an arm to her. “Marya, I promise, I won’t do that again. Just don’t leave. Please.” 

“I’m sorry,” she says, stumbling ungracefully to the door. He rises but she’s already got the door open and is rushing out before he reaches it. He can hear her ragged breathing as she goes. 

_Fuck._

Bucky stares down the empty hallway long after she’s turned the corner. He wants to howl and punch his fist through a few brick walls. Partly to vent his frustration, and partly to punish himself. He should never have pushed her like that! He can only imagine how he’s fucking with her carefully rebuilt life here, how upset she must be right this minute, after his selfish, clumsy, ham-fisted attempt to kiss her.

Then again. 

She called him Sergeant at least twice tonight. When she talked about her Sergeant Barnes, she called him “you”. All night, whether or not she knows it or is ready to accept it, she’s been talking to him as though he’s the real Bucky. Her Sergeant.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Have anything you'd like to say? I'd like to hear it! Please leave a comment and let me know you were here. <3<3<3


	16. Responsibility

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Barnes and Tony have a talk. Then Bucky and Tony have a talk. Then Bucky and Marya have a talk. Lotta talking. But maybe some treats in store, too...

Barnes isn’t happy. He can see that Marya’s upset and preoccupied, and there’s no doubt in his mind what – or who – that’s about. He purposely hasn’t asked Jarvis if she’s visited Bucky. He’s sure she has, and even though it’s his job, he’d just rather not know at the moment. _I know you wouldn’t let her get away with that, Stevie, but that’s what you get for dyin’ on me. Responsibility blows._

He finishes breakfast early and pours another cup of coffee to take with him down to the firing range. He’s in the mood to blast some shit. He’d brought Bucky down to the range the week before, and he can’t remember the last time he’s had such stiff competition. Clint can beat him, but only using arrows. Clint rarely uses guns. Barnes and Bucky have been down here three more times, and Barnes has really enjoyed having someone else to shoot against who – he has to admit, if only to himself – is as good as he is.

But he doesn’t invite Bucky today. He isn’t ready to see him. Barnes knows he’s all twisted up about Marya, and Bucky, and the rift that’s opening up among the Avengers over who Bucky is, and right now he really just needs to clear his mind. Target practice is the best meditation he knows. 

So he’s not particularly glad to see Tony show up. Tony’s a fair shot, but it’s not what he does, he just thinks it’s fun. So he’s no competition. He also rarely comes down here, which means he’s here for A Reason. _Shit_. Barnes cannot get a break. 

Tony sets up and gets a few shots in before, inevitably, he starts talking. “You seen Bucky today?”

“Nah. Why?”

“Just wondered. Thought I’d invite him up to my lab today, maybe.”

“Huh.”

There’s a long period punctuated by the sounds of firing before Barnes is empty and pushes the button to bring his paper target back to his firing booth to be replaced. It needs to be, because the holes in the forehead and center mass are the size of quarters, too big now to be a challenging target. Barnes isn’t satisfied with just hitting the right area, hasn’t been for years. He needs to hit the same bullethole every time. 

Tony’s obviously been waiting for that, because he steps around the lane divider between their booths. “We gotta figure this out, Barnes.”

“Most of us already have,” Barnes sighs. “You and Natasha are the holdouts. What are you planning to do to him in your lab, play lousy music until he cracks?”

Tony’s voice is low-pitched and more serious than Barnes has heard him in a long time. “He could destroy everything we’ve worked for.”

“He hasn’t so far.”

“Yeah, the Mandarin hasn’t taken over the planet so far, either, but that doesn’t mean I’m gonna give him the keys to the tower. Fuckin’ take this seriously, would you?”

When Barnes looks up, Tony actually takes a step backward from the darkly fierce look in his eyes. He holds up his hands in surrender. 

“Think about it,” Barnes says, low and growly. “How long do you realistically think you could keep me locked up in here? A day? A week? Your security is the best there is, Stark, and I could bust outta here in an hour. He’s been here three weeks. You been watchin’ him as close as me, you know he knows what’s holdin’ him in here. And he ain’t done a damn thing.”

“Maybe he’s not as good as you.”

“Maybe he is, and he’s not goin’ anywhere, because he’s got nowhere to go.”

“Barnes. There’s no way to know for sure. Ever. Are you really willing to risk all we’ve built – all _Rogers_ built - for this guy?”

It takes everything Barnes has not to swing on Tony for trying to use Steve’s memory to pressure him. Tony can obviously see that, because he takes _two_ steps backward this time.

“What are you suggesting? You gonna kill him? That why you’re inviting him to your lab?”

“I’m not gonna do that unless I have to. I’m just saying, we’ve worked our asses off to put the Avengers Initiative together, to keep ourselves invisible. Now is not the time to let down our guard.”

“My guard ain’t down,” Barnes says quietly, in a way that has Tony considering backing up another step. “Nobody knows who we are. Nobody knows we even exist. How’s this guy come in here knowing everything about us – names, histories, abilities, events even – if he isn’t telling the truth?”

“I don’t know. And that’s the bottom line, Barnes. _We don’t know_. And things are not getting better in the world, in case you haven’t noticed. We’re stretched to the limit, especially now. I’m sorry to keep reminding you about Rogers; I feel for you, I really do. But without him, I really don’t know how we’re gonna be able to keep taking on the Ten Rings.”

“Maybe we get a new team member.”

“Yeah, ‘cause people like us are so readily available.” Tony’s voice gets harsher and more pressured. He’s losing patience with this whole situation, and it’s making him very anxious, which he Does. Not. Need. “Maybe I’ll check the classifieds: Superhero needs a gig, flexible hours a plus. Has own cape.” 

Barnes slams a new magazine into his Beretta and turns back to pin up a new paper target. Just as he’s about to push the button to run it back to the farthest distance, Tony startles him.

_“Oh, holy fuck in a life raft.”_

Tony’s tone causes Barnes to turn back to look at him.

“You mean him! You want us to make Bucky part of the team!” Tony’s not sure whether he’s more shocked or more disgusted.

“I didn’t say that,” Barnes shrugs. “But we could do worse.”

“I am not fucking hearing this.”

“Just think about it. Do whatever you gotta do, but think about it and don’t do anything permanent without talkin’ to the rest of us.”

“Unbefuckinglievable,” Tony mutters to himself as Barnes’s target reaches its destination.

*****

“I spent some time with this switch,” Tony says, not fooling Bucky for a second with his offhand tone. Tony’s sitting on a high stool in front of a long, cluttered workbench covered with a spectacular assortment of electronic odds and ends, turning the switch around in his fingers. Bucky stands nearby, nervously fiddling with what looks like dismantled small engines and robot parts.

“And?”

“And it’s been used. The same way Marya’s was. It has the same pattern of arcing. Yours had some energy dampeners hers didn’t, that’s why your landing was a little softer than hers -”

“Wait… My landing was _softer_ than hers?“

“Hell, yeah. Not only did she get crunched – her leg bones cracked like eggshells - she also got burned. Not to mention that she crash landed within sight of Stonehenge and a whole busload of tourists saw it. Just lucky no one got video, and all the blood kind of camouflaged that hair of hers. Anyway, I gotta hand it to myself, I really am brilliant. This negative feedback loop with…” Tony goes on for quite some time, praising himself and whatever he’s found in the switch. Bucky listens, but not very hard.

“I don’t know what any of that means,” he says, when Tony stops to breathe and looks up at him. “I told you, I just followed the directions to make it. I understood maybe a tenth of our Stark’s notes, just enough to think it could work.”

“So you don’t agree with what I just said?”

“Stark, I don’t _know_ what you just said.”

“Huh. Good. Because it was all bullshit. Now tell me about the trip. You flip the switch, and what happens? Be detailed, this is for science.”

Bucky rolls his eyes. “Ever been in a blender? Kinda like that.”

“What did you see?”

“Nothing.”

“What does that mean? It was all black? You couldn’t understand what you were seeing? What?”

“None of the above. I don’t think it was all black, I think I wasn’t seeing at all, if that makes any sense.”

“Huh. Hear anything?”

“Nope. I flipped the switch and then I was spinning so fast I was sure it was gonna rip me apart, and it damn near did. Hurt like a mother. And then I fell a long way and hit the ground in a different Singapore than the one in my universe. That’s all I know.”

“How long did it take? How long were you spinning?”

Bucky has to think about that. “I feel like… huh. I feel like it was almost instant, except that I also feel like the spinning went on for… I mean, it seems like I flipped the switch and then I was falling, with no time in between. But I also remember thinking ‘how long can this spinning go on before my limbs rip off?’”

“Interesting.”

“Oh, and I forgot about the fire at the end. I saw it, right when I could see again. Felt it, too. So, basically, first I was spinning, and then I was falling. First through fire, and then through way too fucking much air.”

Tony stares at Bucky for a long time, except he’s not really seeing him. Bucky’s been trained to read people, but he has no idea what Tony’s thinking, only that he’s thinking _fast_ , although Bucky’s not sure how he knows that. 

“OK. If I have any other questions, I’ll let you know.”

“Did I pass?”

“Huh?”

Bucky tilts his head. “C’mon.”

“All right, so I tried some technobullshit on you to see if you’d bite. But I really don’t have any idea how it feels to travel to another universe, so there’s no right or wrong answer there.”

“And that’s more bullshit.”

Tony raises an eyebrow.

“Don’t tell me you didn’t ask Marya all those same questions. What’d she say?”

“I’m sure you asked her that. You could just be parroting her answers.”

“Actually, I didn’t ask her. Which I’m sure you know, or can find out from Jarvis quick enough.”

Tony waves a hand. “Whatevs. Get outta here. I got work to do.”

“Uh-uh. Now _I_ have some questions for _you_.”

“Which I will not answer. So how about we don’t bother.” Tony’s already turned away from Bucky and toward his workbench. He picks up something from the bench in front of him and starts to do something to it.

“Why are you keeping the Avengers secret?”

“It’s the Avengers Initiative, and if it was secret, you wouldn’t know about it.”

Bucky makes a face. “Huh. Avengers Initiative, huh? Where I’m from, that was an old name. Never stuck. They just called themselves the Avengers. And they’re not secret. Not at all. They get more press than you do. Which, what’s with that, by the way? I researched you, and you’re all over the press constantly. Except that guy and the one I see around here? Two different guys. It’s like you’re playing a part for the world.”

Tony turns around and Bucky endures another long period of scrutiny. Once again, he can tell Tony’s thoughts are racing, but can’t get a handle on what they might be. Whatever they are, Bucky’s surprised when they result in some answers.

“You’re just a guy, right, Bucky? Normal dude, normal parents, nothing unusual until someone _made_ you something unusual, right? Shot you full of serum and gave you an uber-arm?”

Bucky shrugs. “I guess. I could fight before, shoot pretty good.”

“Me? I was a weird-lookin’, skinny nerd with way too much wired energy. Bruce? Same. Sam, Nat, Clint? Ordinary humans who were made extraordinary. Do you really think the world needs a bunch of us running around? That Mandarin freak is bad enough. And we’re having enough trouble with run-of-the-mill terrorists. You think we need the bad guys getting big ideas about making themselves into superhumans, too? _That’s_ why the Avengers Initiative is secret.”

Bucky doesn’t respond, but he’s listening intently.

“Worse yet, you want _governments_ getting that idea? Look at Rogers and Barnes. The U.S. government decided it wanted supersoldiers. Look what those two accomplished - what Barnes is still accomplishing - and there were only the two of them. It’s actually a damn good thing Erskine was killed when that facility in Brooklyn blew up creating them. God only knows what would’ve happened with a whole army of those guys. Well, _you_ guys.”

“So you’re saying you keep the Avengers Initiative secret so no one will know that superhumans are possible? To keep the idea, and the means, out of the hands of the bad guys?”

“Among a litany of other reasons, yeah. You disapprove?”

Bucky thinks about that. “Be hard to argue, given the number of superhumans in my own universe. Because you’re right. They do cause trouble. But then, we don’t have the kind of terrorism problem you have.”

“Yeah, because your Stark found Jesus and became a pacifist or some shit, right?”

“Something like that. He’s not a pacifist, exactly. Just doesn’t make weapons anymore after he was abducted. By the Ten Rings, as a matter of fact.”

“Yeah, you said. You’re not gonna suggest that to me, are you?”

“Would you listen?”

“No.”

“Then I’m not gonna suggest it.”

Tony smirks. After that, an awkward silence falls.

“So, um… I’ll go. Thanks for answering my questions. Let me know what else you need. I really…” Bucky frowns as he searches for what he wants to say. “In my universe, Project Rebirth, that was just Steve. Me, I got my ass captured and experimented on. I was a very bad person for a very long time.”

“The way Marya tells it, you did very bad _things_ for a very long time, but you weren’t really a _person_ at all.”

“Yeah, well, Marya, she’s… She deals with all of that better than I do. The point is, I had a chance to use all the shit they did to me, what they made me, on the right side for once. And it felt good.”

“Uh-huh,” Tony responds warily, holding very still and suddenly watching Bucky like he’s an oncoming truck that may or may not be going to stop. 

“Look, I wouldn’t trust me, either. Honestly, if I were you, I’d be voting to put me down. But I’m here, and I am what I am, so I’m hoping you’ll figure out a way to trust me, like you did Marya. Because I wanna keep fighting for the good guys. I wanna help your team.”

“Shit, you don’t ask for much, do you?”

Bucky just looks at him, conviction and naked craving in his face. For a long time, Tony doesn’t respond. When he does, Bucky’s stunned by the change in his demeanor. He’s never seen the Tony Stark from his universe look so… weighed down. Tony is always overconfident, always on top of every situation, even when he’s not. But in this moment, the Tony Stark he’s looking at seems almost lost.

“Do you know why I trusted Marya? It wasn’t because she sought me out. It wasn’t because she had the switch. It wasn’t _me_ , at all. It was Rogers. He basically just announced that she was legit and we were bringing her on board. Just like that. I mean, we tested her like we did you, and I studied that switch like my life depended on it because, I mean, let’s face it. All of ours did. But in the end, it was Cap’s decision. And I could live with that.”

Tony sits, an elbow resting on the workbench, his mind a million miles away as he worries his chin with his fingers. Bucky waits, fascinated. He’s desperate for Tony to trust him, but he now understands that Tony’s never been simply cautious about Bucky. Tony’s _panic-stricken_.

“I didn’t ask for this gig, you know,” Tony goes on. His eyes have narrowed with concern, and they’re not focused on anything. He sounds pensive, melancholy. “I didn’t want it. I thought I did, at first, when the idea for the Avengers Initiative first came up. But then Rogers came along and bulldozed right over me with that all-American earnestness and all his jumping out of planes without a ‘chute shit. _Man, I fuckin’ hated him!_ For all those years, we fought like horny badgers. I must’ve told him he was wrong and full of shit a million times. I resented the living shit out of him taking over _my_ team. And now he’s gone, and you know what? The shit hits the fan and everyone looks to me, and I still find myself looking behind me. And there’s no one. And it scares me more than any monsters or aliens or whatever the fuck else you got in your universe. Because as much as I hated Steve Rogers sometimes, I’ll hate myself more if I fuck up the thing he gave his life for.”

Tony turns his eyes on Bucky. “So don’t push me, Barnes. Push me and I’ll waste you just so I don’t have to take the chance.”

Bucky nods in acknowledgment. Maybe he doesn’t know _this_ Tony Stark, but he knows Tony Stark. Which means he’s entirely aware that Stark had no intention of saying any of that, certainly not to Bucky. What Bucky’s just heard is the human equivalent of the relief valve on one of those huge, old boilers that used to explode with sickening regularity back when every apartment building used steam heat. Bucky says nothing, because there’s nothing he _can_ say. Besides which, he knows Tony well enough to know he’ll lash out if Bucky tries to offer any kind of support or understanding. He’ll also deny having said any of it if Bucky ever tries to bring it up again. 

Hands in pockets, Bucky makes his way past shelves, workbenches, and robots toward the door.

“One more thing.”

Bucky turns around. 

“I promised Marya that if you turned out to be a fake, she’d get to be the one to kill you. Don’t for one minute think I won’t give that order if I have to. Trusting you is hard. _Not_ trusting you? That’s easy.” 

Bucky nods again.

*****

Late that evening, Marya’s in the common room when Bucky wanders in. He’s not there for any particular purpose other than that he’s bored in his apartment and is just looking to see who’s around. She’s sitting in a deep chair, legs stretched out on an ottoman, a computer tablet in her lap. She looks up as he comes into the room.

“Hello, Bucky.”

“Whatcha doin’?”

She glances quickly down at her tablet. “I’m learning about Spain,” she says, a little wistfully.

“Huh. Do you want me to show you where the compound is? Or… where it would be?”

Marya thinks about that. After a moment, she says, “I don’t know.”

Bucky tilts his head and knits his eyebrows as he sits down on the ottoman by her feet. 

“I thought about asking you to help me find the place on Google Earth, but I don’t know if that would make me feel lonely, when I look and it is just an empty piece of land.”

“I get that it would make you miss them. But why lonely? You’re not alone, you know.”

“Not exactly, but... They have each other. And here, I’m the only one-“

Bucky waits for her to continue, but she doesn’t. 

“The only one what?”

“I was going to say that I’m the only one who is like me. Who was Hydra’s property, and did all of the evil things they trained me to do.” She looks up at him with a quirk of her mouth. “But I can’t really say that to you, can I?”

“Not exactly, no. Is it bothering you tonight?”

She hesitates, then looks up. “Sometimes I remember things. Today I saw a woman who reminded me of… something.”

Bucky puts his hand on her foot, trying to be supportive without crowding her. He tries to be gentle as he asks softly, “Wanna tell me?”

“Do you really want to hear what I did to that woman? Because they wanted proof that she was dead. So I… I brought them proof.” 

Bucky just nods sympathetically and squeezes Marya’s foot. They stay like that for a minute without talking.

“I’m sorry, Bucky,” she finally says quietly. “For last night.”

“You don’t owe me an apology. I owe you one.” 

“I’m the one who-“

“Look, let’s just not worry about it, OK? It’s not like there’s etiquette for this kind of thing.”

“I know, but I’m embarrassed.”

“Hey.”

She looks up into his eyes. 

“This whole thing is so jacked up… I pushed too hard and you said no. We’re OK.”

“Thank you.”

Bucky stands. “I’m gonna go back to my rooms. Let you go back to Spain.” He grins and taps the screen of her tablet.

“Good night,” She says, looking at him a bit oddly.

“’Night.”

Bucky’s opening his door when he senses her behind him. He hadn’t realized she’d followed him from the common room. If he’s as silent as she is – and he realizes he almost certainly is - he now understands why people so often startle to find him near them. 

“Hey. You ok?”

She frowns, searching for words. “I think there are women who pretend to feel what they do not, right? I don’t know what they’re called.”

“Nothing nice,” he says, letting the door swing open. “But I know what you mean.”

“I am not those women, Serg- Bucky. I don’t want to do that to you. But I come to see you, even when I’m not supposed to. And then I tell you that I don’t believe you. That I don’t think you could be my Sergeant. I am very unfair to you.”

He sighs. “Come in for a minute. Let’s talk about this.”

He doesn’t say anything else until they’re seated on his couch, in the same spots as the night before. Their legs are touching, but barely. 

“Tell me why you come to see me. Do you know?”

“Yes,” she says softly, looking down. “It’s… Captain Barnes is not my Sergeant. I know that he is not. But you… You say that you are, and maybe, somehow, you could be. Even Mr. Stark can’t say that you are not. And that possibility, that tiny chance, is the closest I’ve been to my Sergeant in all these years.”

“That’s what I thought. And the thing is, Marya, I get that. I understand that’s how you feel. So, yeah, you’re right. I probably _would_ tell you to take a hike if you were just some girl giving me mixed signals. But you got a right to be confused. Besides, it’s _you_. It’s hard sometimes, I won’t lie, but I still want to spend time with you, because at least we’re together.”

Suddenly, Bucky is rewarded for all his patience. All the time he’s been in Marya’s universe, he’s been aching to experience some things with her again, and what she does next is number two – maybe three, but definitely top five – on the list. She looks at him, brow furrowed, head just a bit tilted and a slight pout to her lips. “Why should another girl… I don’t understand. Why would you tell her to go hiking?”

Bucky bursts into laughter. There is no way to stop it, nor can he keep himself from throwing his arms around her. She hugs him back, and laughs a little, too, but it’s the nervous laughter of someone who doesn’t get the joke. 

This. This, to Bucky, is the essence of who Marya is. She’s an assassin, plain and simple. She has every bit as much training and experience, just as much blood on her hands, as he has. She’s also entirely wanton and shameless in bed. At the very same time, she is _this_ adorably naïve, this sweet, this tender. She’s a woman who has done things monstrous enough that she feels alone even among people with the kind of histories the Avengers have, and yet she’s embarrassed because of their almost-kiss. 

“Oh, Marya, I’ve missed you!” He whispers fiercely, crushing her to him, forgetting to be concerned about the fact that she probably can’t breathe with her face smashed against him like that. “I love you so much…”

Marya stops laughing and goes rigid. She doesn’t move, or speak, and he doesn’t even think she breathes. _Shit. He’s done it again._

Bucky lets her go immediately and moves away, so they’re no longer touching. “What is it? Was that not… I’m sorry-“

“No, it’s not the hug. It’s…” She looks almost frightened, but not quite. Her whole body is tense, and there’s a wildness in her eyes that he can see she’s fighting. “Captain Barnes. He doesn’t smell right.”

It takes Bucky a second to put that together with whatever’s happening at the moment. When he does, he lifts his chin a little and tilts his head, giving just the slightest nod of invitation.

Marya hesitates for a long time, her emotions showing clearly on her face, like they always have. She’s hopeful. And she’s afraid of that hope. But she’s also Marya, which means she leans in anyway, close enough that her hair tickles the side of his face as he hears her inhale softly.

Bucky is surprised by the near-sob that escapes her. She falls against him, pressing her face into his neck and grasping for him with her hand, clutching at his shirt as she fills her lungs with the smell of him. He’s a little relieved, actually. It’s been years. A lot has happened. But, apparently, he still smells like she remembers, because she’s got her whole face pressed into his neck now, inhaling him so hungrily that he’s just waiting for her to take an actual bite. Which he’d be fine with, really, because between the way she feels against him and her desperate whimpering, he’s suddenly ready to do some biting, himself.

It’s a long time before she sits back up and he can see her face. He lifts his hand and uses the backs of his fingers to wipe the tears on her cheeks.

“I told you,” he murmurs, leaving his curled fingers under her chin and smiling softly into her eyes. The pain that crosses her face hurts him, too.

“It doesn’t mean you’re him,” she whispers, but she’s not moving away. In fact, she’s reaching up to touch his face, teasing the tips of her fingers through his beard. 

“Doesn’t mean I’m not,” he murmurs with the slightest teasing grin.

He waits. She’s leaning against him, with his metal arm around her, hand spread across her lower back, and her left hand bracing herself on his thigh, using her right hand to touch his face while she’s breathing him in. She dips her head again, scooting her body closer to him while she presses her face back into his neck just under his jaw. 

Only this time, after rubbing her face against his neck for a while, she starts kissing him there, tiny pecks so light he can barely be sure he feels them, while her hand moves up his chest and into his hair. She gets bolder as she kisses up to his jaw, sliding her lips along his jawline, taking her time, until he feels a gentle tug at his hair to turn his face toward hers. He follows, and their lips meet. 

Bucky feels almost paralyzed, even as every skyrocket he ever saw on Independence Day goes off inside him. He’s letting her kiss him, for now, softly and timidly, except that it’s not long before her breath’s coming harder and she’s using that hand in his hair to press his lips harder against hers. 

He starts to kiss her back, his lips working with hers to see how many ways they can fit together, and that little moan she makes goes straight to his cock, which is why it’s not his fault he tightens his arm around her back and slides the other hand to her waist. Their kisses are deeper now, lips parted and it’s all Bucky can do not to lick into her mouth, but he needs to go slow, needs to be sure… He feels her pressing against him, lifting up just a bit for a little more leverage so he’ll get the idea and lie back, pulling her on top of him. 

But he doesn’t. 

Instead, he takes his arms from around her and puts a hand on each of her upper arms, pressing gently to separate them. When he can see her face, she’s flushed and almost panting, her pupils so dilated her eyes look almost black. She’s trying to move back in, encouraging him to continue kissing her.

“Marya, wait.”

She has to take a couple breaths before she can say, “No. Kiss me.”

“I need you to tell me that you know it’s me.”

“I don’t care right now. I want you.”

“Listen to me,” he says, and waits with his hands on her arms until she stops trying to kiss him and opens her eyes fully.

“I need you to be sure.”

“I’m sure. I want you.”

He chuckles a bit at that. “I mean, I need you to be sure who you’re kissing.”

Her eyes narrow in a flash of hormone-fueled frustration. “I am kissing _you_.”

“Marya. You know what I mean.”

“But I… Don’t you want me?”

_Really?_ Bucky takes Marya’s hand from his hair and places it on his crotch, just long enough to ensure she can feel just how much he wants her, then lifts it to his lips. “Yes, sweetheart, I want you. But this is too important. I know how you feel about your Sergeant. And until you know it’s me, or I’m him, or… I’m _me_ , then I think we gotta wait.”

He collapses against the back of the couch, half-crazy with desire and feeling like there’s some heretofore unsuspected dry, cruel, puritanical part of himself calling the shots right now. Lifting his hands up, he mutters to the ceiling, “I _so_ better get a few years off my time in hell for this!”

“Bucky, I…” She shakes her head a little, trying to clear it, and yeah. He feels the same way. 

“You’re not sure yet,” he says, smoothing a hand over that hair that he loves so much.

“I don’t know,” she whispers. “I think I know that you are him, and my body tells me that you are him, but…”

She pushes off the couch to begin pacing in front of it. As she speaks, with each sentence she talks more loudly and quickly, and the frustration she’s venting isn’t just sexual. It’s the whole situation. “None of this makes any sense! It’s all so complicated and it gets all twisted around and I can’t be objective about any of it! They were right to make me stay out of it. They were right to keep me away from you. Because you look like him, and you sound like him. Now I know you smell like him and you even fucking _kiss_ like him, and I want you to be him so much I could tear this place apart with my bare hands and defy all of them to keep you with me. But I can’t _know_ , and if I’m wrong, and you hurt people because I give in to what I want to be true…”

“OK,” Bucky says, standing, too, and moving slowly toward her. “OK. I know. And you’re right.”

When he’s standing in front of her, he says quietly, “So let’s just be patient a little longer.”

Her eyes narrow, and suddenly she finds an acceptable target for her annoyance. “Let me tell you something. If you are my Sergeant, I am going to be very, _very_ angry with Captain Rogers.”

Bucky huffs a humorless laugh. “You’ll be welcome in that club,” he mutters. “Still. He did what he had to do. He needed to go home. And where we came from, we couldn’t have been together.”

“Bullshit! Then it wasn’t an option! And ‘home’ was Bucky! It was always Bucky! That’s what he said!” Marya hisses, suddenly gloriously angry on his behalf. “Don’t defend his actions. Don’t you dare! No matter who you are, don’t try to tell me that there is any universe where it is acceptable for Steve Rogers to leave Bucky Barnes like that. So he was homesick? Exhausted? _Who isn’t?_ The Captain Rogers I knew loved his Bucky, and he was well aware of how much his Bucky loved him. He swore to me that he would never leave him. He said he _couldn’t_. So if your Captain Rogers was my Captain Rogers, then he is…”

She shakes her fists and shuffles her feet, too pissed off now to think of words bad enough. When she does, they’re really vile. They’re also in Norwegian, which has always been her go-to when she needs to curse especially vehemently. Bucky feels another surge of love for her and can’t help the small smile that turns his lips up at the corners. 

“He did apologize.”

When she vents her rage at that, the dent Marya makes in the wall has actual marks of the individual knuckles in her fist. It also breaks at least two of her fingers. There’s a lot of blood.

They’re both a little shocked at what she’s done but, in a way he couldn’t possibly explain, Bucky feels her uncontrolled rage like a narcotic. Suddenly, his pain over what Steve did is bearable, if only just, and he feels a glow he hasn’t felt since before Steve told him he wouldn’t be coming back, all because Marya is _this_ angry at what Steve did to him. She loves him, still. And she still pours her love over him like an inexhaustible tide, warm and sure and inevitable.

Bucky no longer has any doubt that he was right to come here. Already, Marya is soothing the wounds he’s suffered at Steve’s hands just the way she healed those Hydra inflicted. She doesn’t have to try, or even believe that he is who he says he is. All she has to do is be Marya. 

She lets him lead her to the sink in the little kitchen area and put her hand under running water. He goes to the freezer and pulls out a cold pack he’d noticed there, returning to her side to dry her hand carefully with a clean towel. Once that’s done, he rests her hand on one of his, and holds the cold pack to her rapidly-swelling fingers with the other while he leads her to sit back down next to him on the couch.

There are tears in her eyes when she looks up at him. That doesn’t surprise him; she’s furious and she’s just broken some of her fingers. But there’s also a trust in her eyes he hasn’t seen since their last night together in their own universe. 

“Let me stay with you tonight,” she whispers.

“Not until-“

“No, I know. I’m not asking to have sex. Let me sleep here, with you. You know it’s different for me; sleeping together is… warmth, and caring, and safety. I haven’t given you any of that since you’ve been here.”

“That’s not true. But I would love for you to sleep with me.” They smile at one another while she wipes her tears. “On one condition.”

“I know what you are going to say.”

“It’s not negotiable. If you try anything, I’ll make you sleep in your own bed. Will you behave?”

“Yes,” Marya answers, her mouth halfway between a pout and a smirk. “But I will not want to.”

It’s hard for Bucky to just enjoy her presence and her warmth, keeping his desire for Marya clamped down tight. Especially when they’re lying in each other’s arms, with her head tucked under his chin and her breath soft against his neck where she can surround herself with his scent. He almost tells her she has to leave if she can’t stop it with those small, happy, sighs that keep bringing tears to his eyes, but he can’t make himself do it. He knows that, if she left his bed now, he’d last about three minutes before he’d be knocking on her door, begging her to let him into her bed.

They actually fall asleep, even if it takes a long time for both of them. But it’s only a few hours before they’re awakened by the shriek of the Assemble Alarm.


	17. Fort Drum

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Mandarin and the Ten Rings overrun Fort Drum in upstate New York, and the Avengers try to help the Army. It doesn't look good, and it finally gets bad enough that Tony agrees that they have no choice but to call for Bucky's help. Now, it looks like it's too late. Three of the Avengers are gravely injured and out of the fight, and The Mandarin himself has just arrived.

Bucky’s awake and out of bed before his eyes are all the way open. He starts running before he becomes aware of Marya, springing up from the other side of the bed. At that, he realizes the situation and stops as he hears her call out, “Jarvis, Troop Eight on the way!”

She turns back toward him at the doorway and says hurriedly, “I’m sorry – I will see you when we get back-” and blows him a kiss. He hears her call back to him, “I’m very glad you let me stay!” as she’s crossing his living room, and then the sound of the door opening and closing.

And then he’s alone, a healthy dose of adrenaline ensuring that he’s not getting back to sleep anytime soon. It was one thing to hear the quinjet take off when he’d first arrived in this universe. Then, he’d just had to guess what was happening, and he’d been basically a prisoner, so there was no thought that they might bring him on the mission with them.

It’s different now.

Since a member of the team was here, the alarm had been broadcast into Bucky’s apartment, sounding exactly as it did in his universe, and resulting in Bucky’s instant readiness for action, even though he’d been sound asleep, holding Marya close. He wonders what their reaction will be when she shows up in the prep room wearing the shirt everyone had seen Bucky wearing the day before. In a normal group, most people wouldn’t notice something like that. The Avengers are not a normal group.

Bucky’s at a loss. It’s very early, really too early to be up yet, but since sleep’s out of the question, he doesn’t know what to do with himself. Which leaves him simply lying on top of the still-warm sheets, hands behind his head, with nothing to do but think. At first, that’s OK. He turns his head into the pillow and he can still smell Marya’s hair, still feel a little residual warmth where her head had been only minutes before. Now that she’s not here to tempt him, he’s very glad that all they’d done was sleep, nestled close with their limbs tangled together. When he makes love to Marya, he wants her to know it’s him. He doesn’t want her to have any doubts. And it had still been deeply satisfying, just lying together in each other’s arms, comfortable and content.

But then Bucky hears the quinjet leave the landing platform, and he has more time to think. He’s been happier in this universe than he’d been for a very long time in his own, but he’s only been here for a matter of weeks. His old thought patterns, full of aching loneliness and self-reproach, are easy to fall back into. He knows the Avengers will suit up on the jet, followed by a tactical briefing. They’ll probably be squabbling a little about strategy, positions, timing. Bucky’s heart aches a little at the idea that he’s here, lying in bed, left behind and left out.

Yeah, he’s feeling a little sorry for himself, but he’s entitled, right? All that time Hydra kept him in cryo, awakening him only because he was an indispensable weapon, whose skills were crucial to a mission. And during his time in the Howlies and, later, with the Avengers, he’d been Steve’s right hand. Steve hadn’t made a move without Bucky’s counsel, even though the dumbass only took his advice about half the time. He’d been an essential, fundamental part of every battle plan, kicking bad-guy ass and watching Steve’s at the same time.

And now look at him. Left at home like a pet while Marya and the team go fight to protect the world.

“Jarvis?” He calls.

“Yes, Sergeant?”

“Can you tell me where the team is going? What’s the mission?”

There’s a pause while Jarvis determines what he can tell Bucky. Whether it’s by analyzing information or contacting Tony, Bucky doesn’t know. Either way, the answer is a flat, “I’m sorry, Sergeant. I am not authorized to share that information.”

Bucky kind of knew that was coming, but it sucks hard all the same. He wonders if he’s seen his last mission. He decides to get up and find something to do. Something more productive than lying here feeling out of place, obsolete, and useless.

*****

The fight has been fierce since it started, but these guys must have expected that. After all, the Ten Rings has just attacked an American military base.

“That dickhead must be the stupidest fuck alive,” Tony snipes. “What kinda dumbass attacks the Army _at their base_?”

“Wait, wait, I know this one!” Clint’s voice comes over the comms, snarky as always, even though he’s hard pressed, on the roof of a building with a rapidly crumbling parapet. It’s crumbling because of all the assholes hitting it while shooting at Clint.

“Ironman, I thought you were in communication with General Torrington,” Natasha breaks in. “I’d kind of like these Army guys to quit shooting at me.”

“I am in touch with him, but _he’s_ not in touch with _them_. Their comms are FUBAR. First thing these assholes did was fry ‘em. He’s working on it.”

“Tell him to get his guys outta the way! I can’t shoot dick without hitting one of them.” Sam’s frustration comes through loud and clear.

“I’m trying, Falcon. Widow, Troop, I need you here! There’s a team making their way toward Logistics, and I’m starting to think that’s what this attack is all about, because they’re moving with a purpose.”

Marya calls in, breathing heavily. “On your nine, Sir!”

“Be there in five,” Natasha tells him.

It’s not pretty where Captain America and the Hulk are. There are hundreds of combatants on both sides, all apparently with unlimited amounts of ammunition. Luckily, it’s fairly easy for the Hulk to tell the good guys from the bad, given that all the good guys are wearing uniforms. He’s having a good time picking up vehicles and bowling them into the bad guys’ positions, but the good guys who’ve taken cover behind those vehicles aren’t very happy when he takes them away.

Barnes is running everywhere, shooting when he can, using the shield when he has to, and relaying commands to the Squadron commanders trying to organize their defense of Fort Drum on the fly. He gets plenty of chances to deploy his shield, and his fists, as he tears across the base. The groups of terrorists don’t seem very well organized; they appear to be grouped into teams of five or six, each with a loosely-defined objective. Barnes is able to take out multiple entire teams as he darts from place to place. He’s a little disappointed that none of his teammates see him decapitate two terrorists with one toss of his shield – one on the throw, and one on the return – but he thinks they might believe him. He’s getting really good with it. He still prefers guns, and uses them much more than Steve ever did, but he’s Captain America. There’s a certain image to uphold.

The Ten Rings definitely came to play, because there are hundreds of them swarming the base. There’s plenty to keep the Tenth Mountain Division _and_ the Avengers busy, which is why Tony’s so concerned about the team of assholes making a beeline for one of the buildings. There aren’t that many of them, maybe twenty-five, and they’re still not engaging anyone who doesn’t engage them first.

“Hey, Cap,” there’s the briefest pause in Tony’s transmission, “-tain, you might wanna get your star-spangled ass heading over this way. And bring the big guy. Looks like this is where the party’s gonna be.”

Clint can see the Army is solidifying its positions around the building where Command’s located. They know where the entrances are, and they definitely know what they’re doing. So he calls to Sam.

“Hey, Bird-boy, can you give me a lift? The Mountaineers got this. I can back Ironman up at the Logistics building if you can get me there.”

“How the fuck you gonna call me that and ask me for a lift in the same breath? I’m gonna drop your tiny, arrow-shootin’ ass right in the middle of these assholes.”

Nonetheless, Sam swoops down, catching Clint’s wrist as Clint grasps his, and flies a zig-zag, looping pattern, avoiding the gunfire aimed at them, across to the other building. The fighting has gotten much more intense there. In fact, from up here, it’s clear that Command and the Logistics building are the focus of the attack.

Sam drops Clint on the roof in the place Clint indicates, then flies off to make a run at the group of terrorists huddled together, now in an arrowhead formation, running for the building.

“It’s your fault if I puke up here, flying all swoopy like that,” Clint says as he flattens himself in his position.

“I hope you do,” Sam replies. “Teach you some respect.”

“Hey, cover us, Falcon,” Tony’s voice comes through. “I’m comin’ in heavy.”

Natasha makes a disgusted sound over the comms. “Oh, I _know_ you didn’t just make a crack about our weight.”

Sam keeps up a steady fire as Tony, flying lower than he would have liked, approaches the Logistics building with Natasha under one arm and Marya under the other. His progress is ungainly and terrifyingly slow, and he can’t use the repulsors in his gauntlets for either propulsion or defense when he’s hanging on to his passengers.

“Sir!” Marya shouts. “Ahead, by that bus!”

Although Tony’s shoulder-mounted weapons are being fired by Jarvis, they’re needed to keep the assholes down while he’s flying over them. He doesn’t have anything available to shoot the dickweed with the RPG who’s just emerged into the street in front of them.

“Fuck! I can’t let go of you!”

“Screw it, you’re right handed. Let go of me and fry him! The Troop’s got me.”

Marya and Natasha do have their arms linked, hands grasping forearms across Tony’s back. But Natasha’s swinging freely when Tony lets go, and it’s all she can do to hang on while Tony dispatches RPG Guy with a wrist rocket just before he gets off his shot.

As soon as he does, he reaches back for Natasha, but it’s too late. She’s falling, yelling and flailing her limbs. Tony slows and prepares to circle back for her, but Natasha’s landed in a crouch. It’s not graceful and she’s clearly in pain, but she’s at least landed on grass on the grounds of a huge building, and waves him off. “Get to Logistics! I’ll meet you there!”

And with that, she’s doing a fast hop-skip step across the grounds toward the building, and Marya sees her disappear inside.

Ironman lands briefly to drop Marya in the center of a group of soldiers with instructions to get inside the building and see what’s going on. Then he flies up high to see the overall picture. What he sees makes him gasp a string of expletives that lets everyone on the team know things are even worse than they look from the ground.

“Hey, Spangles 2.0, you need to drop whatever you’re doing and get to Logistics. We got incoming.”

“What incoming?” Barnes asks as he punches the shield into two faces at once.

“The ones here already? They aren’t the main force. _That’s_ what’s incoming.”

“ _Fuck me sideways_. All right. On our way.”

*****

Bucky’s restless. He wishes he could at least know what’s going on. Just waiting, blind and deaf and completely unable to help, is making him crazy. He keeps thinking back to things Barnes has said to him regarding the Ten Rings, and how the overall situation is deteriorating.

“Jarvis?”

“Yes, Sergeant.”

“Can you give me an update?”

“I’m sorry, Sergeant, I cannot.”

“OK, how about this. On a scale of one to ten, how well would you say it’s going?”

“Ten being perfect, zero being disaster?”

“Yeah.”

Jarvis computes that for a minute. “It’s been a four all day, Sergeant. It’s currently a two.”

“ _Fuck_.”

“Indeed, Sergeant.”

*****

It hadn’t taken the Army long to coordinate its defense. Which wasn’t surprising, given that Fort Drum is their home turf. But The Mandarin, or someone doing strategy for him, apparently has some very good intel. Because their objectives appear to be taking the Logistics building, and keeping the Army on the ground. And so far, they’re accomplishing both.

Fort Drum is home to the Tenth Combat Aviation Brigade. They have overwhelming, terrifying airpower that gets deployed all over the world to do what needs to be done. And today, at home, all of that airpower is entirely earthbound. The Ten Rings is everywhere, apparently with enough ammunition to keep the air saturated with lead for as long as it takes, and enough grenades to keep the Tenth CAB seething with frustration, under cover and away from their machines.

At the Logistics building, the firefight is every bit as hot, and it’s not going any better. The building is massive. It has multiple entrances, and the Ten Rings brought plenty of firepower to make more if they have to. They’ve managed to blow a good-sized hole in one side of the building, which the Avengers plugged with a Hulk, and the Falcon providing air support. But Ten Rings operatives keep getting into the building other ways.

The Tenth Mountain Division is Light Infantry, which means there are a large number of armed soldiers to defend the building. But the Army doesn’t usually fight at home, and the Tenth Mountain Division is the most-deployed unit in the U.S. military. So they don’t have as many soldiers as General Torrington needs to fight all the battles going on all over the base. They definitely need the Avengers. The problem is, there weren’t that many Avengers to begin with, and now Clint’s down.

Clint gets shot off the roof of the Logistics building, falling hard into a mass of Ten Rings shitheads. The good news is that he takes five out just by falling on them, and manages to gut two more with a nice Gerber tac knife Barnes gave him for his birthday. The bad news is, Ironman barely manages to rescue him before he would have been overwhelmed by a mob of drooling fuckwads. Sure, their convergence on Clint means Tony can take out another sixteen with his repulsors and shoulder-mounted guns, but damn, there seems to be an overabundance of these assholes today.

Tony carries Clint into the building and hands him off to Barnes before rushing back out into the fray. Barnes barely has time to get him to the makeshift treatment area deep inside the building before there’s another breach and he has to go tearing up the stairs to help. He can’t call on Marya, because she’s already fighting another breach at a side entrance.

Natasha’s helping hold the main entrance, shooting everything that isn’t wearing green and hoping her steadily increasing weakness doesn’t mean what she thinks it does. She hears the telltale whoosh of an RPG, and then feels, as much as hears, the Hulk give a stupendous roar. She shouts a question into her comms, but nobody answers her.

Barnes hopes, as he flings his shield back into its harness on his back and catches a freshly-reloaded weapon tossed to him by a nearby Lieutenant, that this is all the men The Mandarin has to send against Fort Drum today. Because he’s seriously wondering how the hell they’re going to get this done. He sees Tony aloft in the distance, firing his wrist rockets and dodging return fire.

“Ironman, when you get a chance, I need a sitrep. We got any more guests coming, or is this as sporty as it’s gonna get today?”

“I don’t see any more large forces, but there’s something going on around the Gas Alley Gate. I don’t know. There’s a bunch of idiots there, and they’re surrounding something. I’ll keep an eye on ‘em.”

“Roger that.”

That’s when the Hulk roars loud enough to shake the building, huge as it is, which temporarily distracts all the infiltrators Barnes is trying to eject from the premises. It gives him an opportunity to empty his weapon without much return fire, and that’s enough to turn the tide. He and the soldiers fighting with him are able to clear the rest of the Ten Rings assholes from the building again.

It’s just in time, because Marya’s calling for help. They’ve blown the side entrance she was defending to twice its original size, killing and disabling many of the defenders. When Barnes gets there, the presence of Captain America seems to intimidate the invaders a little, except for the one who’s too busy trading blows with Marya to pay attention. He makes the mistake of grabbing for her weapon, though, which gives her the chance to pull him toward her while launching a kick at his face. Barnes shudders a little at what’s left of the guy’s teeth as he goes down.

It takes a long time to get momentum back in favor of the defenders, and by the time they’re dug in again and keeping the Ten Rings at bay, Tony’s reporting in about Sam.

It’s everything they can do to keep up a barrage fierce enough to give Tony a chance to land. As it is, he gets hit several times, one shot severely damaging the repulsor in his left boot. Sam, too, gets hit, even though Tony’s protecting him as much as he can. Sam’s limp and unconscious. He’s bleeding from his head and one of his wings hasn’t retracted. Rather, it’s scorched and crunched, holes dotting it up to the ragged edge where two-thirds of it have been torn off. Two medics have a stretcher laid out on the floor for him, and while they’re settling him on it, Tony and Barnes face each other.

“What happened?”

“RPG took off his wing,” Tony says, face set in hard lines. “He flew into the roof at speed, and then he started to slide. I think he was unconscious at that point, but he took a couple of rounds before I could get to him. And then another on the way in.”

“Holy shit.”

Marya steps over to watch the medics lift Sam up and begin to make their way to the medical area.

Barnes asks Tony, “What about the Gas Alley Gate? You see anything more there?”

“Yeah,” Tony sighs. His look at Barnes is grim. “I think it’s The Mandarin.”

“He’s _here_?” Barnes groans.

“I can’t be sure, I haven’t actually seen him. But I’d put money on it.”

“What’s he doing?”

“I think he’s waiting for us to lose.”

Tony and Barnes look at one another.

“Sirs.”

“Yeah, Troop,” Barnes says, turning to Marya.

“That movie you like, with the dwarves and elves, and the little man with the magic ring? Remember how they light beacons on the mountaintops when they need help?”

Tony’s brows furrow even more. “Yeah? What about it?”

“The wizard says that it is too late to call for help when you’re already besieged. I think it may already be too late. We need to call for help now.”

Barnes and Tony look at Marya for a moment, and Tony says, “Who, exactly, do you suggest we call? Thor’s a little out of the solar system right now, and-“

It’s Barnes who answers. “Bucky.”

Tony’s head whips to stare at him.

“You can’t be serious. What do you want to do, arm him and give him a quinjet and just hope he does the right thing?”

“You got a better idea?”

“C’mon, Barnes! We already got enough problems. If he even shows up, what if he turns on us?”

“Sir, that’s the only ‘if’ we have.” Marya’s voice is respectful, but firm.

“What does that mean?”

“You’re asking what happens ‘if’ Bucky doesn’t help us. The answer is that, without Bucky’s help, we are going to lose this base. And The Mandarin may let the soldiers live, but he will kill all of us. The only way we might live is ‘if’ we call Bucky and he helps us. Which means we don’t have a choice.”

Tony looks back to Barnes, then at Marya again. “Are you really willing to bet your life on that guy? All of our lives?”

“Yes.” There is no hesitation or doubt.

Tony’s dark eyes turn to Barnes.

“Yes,” Barnes says, with the same amount of certainty.

At that moment, the comms start blaring with the sound of General Torrington’s voice, calling for all of the soldiers currently defending it to evacuate the Command center.

*****

Bucky’s only landed his first few punches to the heavy bag when Jarvis interrupts.

“Sergeant, Sir requests rather urgently that you join the Avengers on site at Fort Drum. I am currently bringing a quinjet to the landing pad, which will arrive in ten minutes. In the meantime, please make haste to the preparation area. I shall brief you on your way. Captain Barnes invites you to utilize any of his tactical gear and equipment you choose. I will open the armory for you. You are to have your choice of weapons, and Captain Barnes requests that you ‘bring the pain.’ I did request more information, Sergeant, but he says that you will know what that means.”

“I do,” Bucky assures Jarvis as he tears the gym door open and sprints for the stairway. He takes the stairs two at a time, up the five floors to the preparation area where the Avengers keep their suits and gear, and where the armory is located. It’s fortunate that none of Tony’s staff is allowed on the Avengers’ floors unescorted, because Bucky’s feral smile and the ferocious gleam in his eyes would have terrified anyone he encountered.

*****

Although there’s a hell of a battle raging around the building’s exterior, the Ten Rings controls half the Logistics building now.

Barnes has been shot twice, which seriously pisses him off. One bullet hit his left leg, which would really smart right now if he paid any attention to it, but it’s a through-and-through, which he knows will heal, so he ignores it. The other wound is more problematic, because it’s low down in his right chest, and using the shield seriously sucks right now. He has to thank the fucking Mandarin for one thing: attacking an Army base means he has all the ammo he could ask for. His right arm is so sore from recoil he’s thinking about shooting left-handed, but he’s more accurate right-handed, and that also allows him to use his left arm for things like punching and throwing Ten Rings dickheads out of his way. Which the broken ribs on that side make kind of miserable, too. Or would, if he allowed himself to think about it.

He’s currently on the second floor of the building, but he’s on his way to the first floor, where the Ten Rings is making a strong run at the improvised barricade keeping them out of this side of the building. Barnes feels like he’s always on his way somewhere; he barely gets to one trouble spot before someone’s calling for reinforcements at another. Barnes is in the best position to see that they’re losing ground. The Army forces outside the building are keeping this side of it from being overrun, but to do that, they have to be where they are. Which means those inside the building are all there is: they’re not likely to get more soldiers to help hold the lines.

Barnes wonders where Bucky is. He doesn’t wonder whether he’s coming. Barnes knows he’s coming. But he is beginning to wonder whether it will make any difference now.

Tony and the Hulk are inside the Logistics building now. Tony’s grounded, his suit too damaged to stay aloft and having serious technical malfunctions on top of that. He can no longer connect with Jarvis for aim assistance, strategy, or information about what’s going on elsewhere on the base, so he’s reduced to manning a post near the middle of the top floor of the building. Ironman is leading the force trying to keep the bad guys out of the good guys’ half of the building, at least on this floor.

The Ten Rings strike team he’d seen making for this building, whatever their purpose, is now inside. He doesn’t know where, or what they’re doing, but he has a pretty good idea. The Logistics Building is the Information Technology hub for the base. The Army’s not stupid enough to keep any more hardware than it has to centralized in one place, but there is a certain amount that is unavoidably concentrated here. Which means that fucking bastard is looking to play his favorite trick: using an enemy’s technology against it. Tony has no idea what fuckery the Mandarin could do from this building, how interconnected this base might be with others, so he doesn’t know just how bad he could hurt the United States if he gets control of Fort Drum. But he knows it’s bad enough for the Mandarin to invest this kind of resources in trying. They have to keep him from succeeding, no matter the cost.

Tony has no idea where Bucky is, or whether he’s coming at all. He had a rocky connection with Jarvis back when they’d sent the message, so he knows Bucky got it, but then things went fully tits-up and, since then, he barely has any control of the suit. It’s protecting him from bullets and shrapnel, but that’s about all the good it’s doing him right now. It lets him expose himself enough to throw flash bangs and fragmentation grenades without dying, which is helpful. But, in the back of Tony’s mind, he’s starting to think he should probably have gotten further with succession planning at Stark Industries. Because it’s not looking too good.

Hulk’s at the main entrance, making sure none of the Ten Rings force enters that way. Since they control the half of the building where the massive hole is, the two-story entrance lobby is the only place big enough for him to really be effective. Anywhere else, he’d be hampered by the low ceilings. It’s frustrating for him, which is good, in a way, because it’s keeping him enraged and none of the Mandarin’s flunkies want any of him. Many of the Tenth Mountain Division don’t, either, but at least he’s nominally on their side. They just give him a lot of room.

He makes a pretty big target, but for a big guy, he’s surprisingly agile, and he’s clever in shielding himself. For example, when he was still outside protecting the perimeter, he’d tossed a few Piranha V Infantry Fighting Vehicles in front of the entrance. They’re making excellent cover now. And he’s torn a large sheet of shielding from a towed gun, and is currently using it as a shield.

It’s also a little hard to shoot at the Hulk when you’re dodging the things he’s throwing. Teams of soldiers are ransacking the building for things with which to arm him: desks, file cabinets, copy machines, anything big and heavy enough to make bad guys duck rather than aim and shoot, or storm the entrance. They’d particularly enjoyed watching the Hulk rapid-fire a couch, a conference room table, and a credenza to stop an advance and push the enemy back behind the vehicles they were using for cover.

But it’s not enough. It’s a large, blunt instrument against a horde of small, quick would-be infiltrators. And the Hulk’s getting tired.

Natasha has moved to the third floor, the floor below Tony, and is with the force holding the line there. She’s laid out like a sniper, doing a very effective job of ensuring that nobody not wearing fatigues gets into her side of the building. She yells encouragement to the soldiers around her and accepts fresh weapons every time she runs out of ammunition, ignoring the sharp pain in her shoulder where the stock has been battering her with every shot for the last hour and a half.

Only she knows that she’s assigned herself that role because she’s pretty sure she couldn’t stand if she had to.

Marya’s broken fingers are a problem. They’ve healed significantly from the night before, which means she can shoot and stab, but she can’t throw knives. Which is frustrating, because all the soldiers have at least one, and many have several. For the first time, she has access to as many knives as she wants, but she can’t make use of it. She’s really mad at herself for doing something so stupid and making herself less capable to fight, but she turns that anger on the Ten Rings operatives who simply insist on trying to breach the Army’s half of the building.

The position she’s helping defend is the head of a wide hallway that opens onto a large, open area full of cubicles and desks. That open area can be entered from five different corridors. The Ten Rings controls three of those. The Army controls two, one of which is this one.

She’s deep inside the building, close to where the medics are treating the wounded as best they can. Early on, it had been a good idea to locate the improvised treatment area near the center of the building. Now, it’s uncomfortably close to the action, and Marya will be damned if these Ten Rings bastards are going to get past her to where Sam and Clint are both lying, gravely wounded. She, herself, is bleeding and thinks she’s been stabbed at least twice and shot once, but she’s not going to take the time to find out for sure. There’s a lot of blood on her. Maybe not that much of it is hers.

She sees another idiot make his way to one of the last vertical cube walls still standing and scoffs. Do these people really not understand that they cast shadows? She hears some members of the squad she’s with suck in their breath as she streaks out toward the wall and whips around the edge of it. The soldiers can’t see anything over the wall except the top of her head and, soon, a spurt of blood. There’s a wounded animal noise that’s abruptly cut off, and then a thud. But when she comes back around the edge to dart back into the hallway, she’s moving more slowly and leaning to the right in her crouch. There’s a fresh rip in the right lower quadrant of her tac vest, showing a fairly sizeable linear knife wound that hadn’t been there a moment before.

Marya now deeply wishes she hadn’t suggested calling Bucky. It’s too late. She’s not at all happy about dying, but what bothers her is that he’s going to get hurt, or even killed, trying to save them.

In the very occasional, static-filled bursts of communication Tony still gets from Jarvis, he hears something about The Mandarin. Although he doesn’t catch more than the name, he’s pretty sure he knows what the message is, anyway. He can hear excited yells and loud bits of conversation from the enemy’s side of the floor. He can also see that they’re rearranging themselves. He knows, somehow, what’s coming.

Tony sighs and leans his head against the wall as he presses the button for the Avengers’ comms. They still work, a little, because he’d designed them to be independent of Jarvis if they ever needed to be.

“Guys, I think The Mandarin’s coming into the building.”

“I know he is,” Barnes’s weary voice comes through, the words gasped out. “Just had a little run-in with him.”

“You OK?”

There’s a pause that seems to go on forever.

“Are we grading on a curve?”

“Widow? Troop Eight?” Tony calls.

“We’re backed up to the doors of the medical area.” Marya’s subdued voice comes through after a moment. “And they’ve just brought the Widow in on a stretcher.”

Barnes growls out a few expletives in what hoarse, gravelly voice he has left. “I got more bad news. There’s a helicopter coming. I think they’ve overrun the CAB.”

It goes quiet on the other side of the floor, and Tony watches The Mandarin make his entrance. The Ten Rings controls the stairways on that side of the building, so there’s no question how he got up to the fourth floor. The question is what he’s going to do now that he’s here. And Tony thinks he has a pretty good idea, because he knows the moment The Mandarin catches sight of him.

“Well, shit,” Tony murmurs to himself as The Mandarin, apparently unconcerned by the gunfire aimed at him, slowly smiles.


	18. The Last Step In Saying Goodbye

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The battle for Fort Drum comes to a conclusion. Back at Stark Tower, the wounded members of the team receive care, followed by an after-mission dinner. Now that Marya knows Bucky is who he says he is, they're finally fully reunited.

Tony can hear the helicopter coming now. He wonders how long he has to live. He actually speaks to ask Jarvis to call Pepper, but the silence that follows reminds him that he’s alone in his helmet. _Fine_. If he’s not going to be having a last conversation with the woman he loves, he might as well flip his faceplate up so The Mandarin can hear whatever clever last words he comes up with. He hopes he can do better than “Fuck you,” but that’s really all he’s got right now.

Marya’s wrestling with a dude who has punched her in the mouth twice now. Her teeth are smeared with blood, and she can feel it dripping down her chin. The guy’s got her all but pinned, and he’s doing his best to break her left arm, or else pull it out of the socket, whichever. She’s screaming with pain and effort, something she’s never done in all the years she’s been a soldier. Troops fight silently. Such a display of weakness is shameful, but it’s beyond her ability to control.

Barnes sees the helicopter clearly now. It’s an Apache, fully loaded, and it’s coming fast. He wonders whether the Ten Rings is just going to blow the building, without worrying about collateral damage. After all, there are a lot of their own guys around. Which kind of pisses him off. He doesn’t mind dying surrounded by the Tenth Mountain Division. After all, he’s Army, too, and they’re badass. But he’d really rather not find himself in line at the Pearly Gates with a bunch of Ten Rings assholes. 

And then he hears his own voice in his ear, saying, “Hey, Ironman? You might wanna put that faceplate back down. And duck.”

Tony hits the deck and shouts for everyone else to do the same. He sees a flash of The Mandarin’s robes disappearing as he hears the chopper start to fire.

Marya hears Bucky’s voice, too, and she breaks into a wide smile. Which, apparently, is a little creepy with all the blood smeared across her teeth, because the dude she’s wrestling with looks a little shocked. He’s even more shocked when she knees him in the balls, frees her arm, reaches behind him, and then guts him with his own knife.

Barnes watches the Apache unload on the Ten Rings positions around the building. It does a full three-sixty, keeping its nose pointed inward toward the building, firing so furiously from every gun that there’s no chance for return fire. There’s a roar from the Mountaineers outside, who have given up watching the skies for help, especially because for the last fifteen minutes, they’ve been hearing explosions and watching fires erupt in the direction of Wheeler-Sack, certain that it was the terrorists destroying the Airfield. 

Now it’s clear that what they’ve been seeing is the Combat Air Brigade taking it back. The soldiers are suddenly full of a terrible, bloodthirsty joy, and begin a ground assault as furious as the one Bucky’s unleashing from the air. Somebody starts yelling, “Not in our house!” and pretty soon, the cry is everywhere. 

Barnes wastes no time. As soon as he sees Ten Rings positions start to be evacuated, he sends reinforcements into the building. The chaos is so loud that he has to put his hand to his ear to hear what Tony is saying. 

“He’s escaping!” Tony’s shouting into the comms. “The Mandarin! He’s going around the front!”

There seems to be some kind of communication happening within the invasion force, because more positions are abandoned and most the Ten Rings dickheads begin running more or less in the same direction. 

“I’m on my way,” Marya’s voice says. “They’re deserting the building. The Army’s got this floor.”

“Do it, Troop,” Tony says.

“Ironman, I’m on my way up to you,” Barnes tells him as he sprints up the stairs, suddenly full of energy again. “Let’s start up top and sweep ‘em down and out.”

“Hell, yeah.”

From the air, the stream of dark-clad Ten Rings terrorists looks almost liquid as it pours out from every opening on one side of the Logistics building. It’s a gratifying sight, but Bucky sees a huge knot of them forming around a black-haired figure in what look like gold and white robes. By every indication, that has to be The Mandarin. Everything in Bucky wants to send a Hellfire missile right into the middle of that knot, but he controls the impulse. 

A few seconds later, he realizes there’s a different sort of hellfire headed for that spot, anyway, in the form of a very large, very green missile tossing assholes right and left as he makes his way toward The Mandarin. Bucky decides it’s time to give up the controls and let the Mountaineers have their Apache back. 

He thanks both pilots, who immediately thank him back. After all, until he’d just walked out into no-man’s-land with his Mk-13 grenade launcher and started blasting everything in sight, they’d been hunkered down, unable to do anything more than look at their machine. Of course, they didn’t have metal arms to block bullets, but damn if they didn’t both suddenly want one. 

Bucky thanks the rest of the crew while he straps on his long guns and the crew covers the chopper’s low bank with a punishing barrage of bullets. He wishes them good hunting and they share a hearty round of “Hooah’s” before he salutes them and jumps.

He lands with a tucked roll and comes up shooting. 

“Damn, son, that boy’s crazy,” one of the gunners remarks.

“Maybe,” her crewmate notes, “But he’s our kinda crazy.”

“Y’all suddenly feel real underarmed?”

“Tell ya’ what. Soon’s we send these bastards to hell, I _got_ to get me some thigh holsters.”

“Hooah.”

Bucky’s a whirling dervish of gunfire, an M4 Carbine in one hand and an M249 SAW in the other, somehow shooting everything he means to, and nothing he doesn’t. For example, he doesn’t shoot the Hulk, who is making his way through the knot of bad guys toward The Mandarin from one side, while Bucky makes his way in from the other.

The Hulk gets there first. By the time he does, about half the Ten Rings goons have deserted their boss and are hightailing it, because this giant green motherfucker is _crushing_ the ones he doesn’t swat to Kingdom Come. And his buddy with the metal arm is fucking _grinning_ as he mows them down from the other side. Bucky doesn’t give them a thought. He was patched into the Mountaineers’ comms while they were taking back the Airfield, and he knows what they’re putting in motion. Most of these assholes aren’t getting off this base.

Bucky arrives just as The Mandarin is winding up to launch some kind of mindblowing martial arts show that Bucky would actually kind of like to see. He’s heard a lot about this guy, and he’s already moving almost faster than Bucky can follow. The problem is, the Hulk is nine feet tall, with an arm reach to match, and apparently doesn’t give a fuck. In any event, he doesn’t give The Mandarin a chance to make even the first offensive move. He simply makes a fist, brings it down on The Mandarin’s topknot, and down he goes. 

Bucky looks up at the Hulk, and they share a nod. There’s a lot going on around them, but Bucky takes a moment to look down at the handsome Asian man, of an indeterminate age, lying on the street. He’s wearing what Bucky only knows to call a dress, pure grey and soft-looking. The gold and white Bucky had seen from the air is a cape of sorts, attached at the neck and down the underside of each arm, so that it would float out from his arms like wings as he fought. He’s still impressive-looking, even as he lies crumpled and more or less unconscious.

So this is the man who killed this universe’s Steve Rogers. Bucky can feel his fingers twitch on the trigger guards of his guns. Half of him wants to reduce him to bullet-riddled pudding, while the other half wants to toss his guns away and pummel him with his bare hands until he’s nothing but a stain on the concrete. But it isn’t his place. He knows what he has to do. 

At that moment, he sees movement coming toward him from the corner of his eye and turns to see a blood-covered Marya running toward them through the chaos and continued fighting. A group of Ten Rings thugs make the mistake of trying to engage her. Two of them get to share a flying butterfly kick, which knocks them into a third, and all three go down. A fourth gets a knife across the throat as she continues her turn. The fifth is about to get a roundhouse kick when she comes around again, but he sees the light and is running just before her foot makes contact. She doesn’t miss a step. She resumes her run and just keeps coming, until Bucky realizes that, although she’s getting close, she’s not slowing down. 

Bucky’s big and muscular, and he can take a hit. But he’s also subject to the laws of physics, so yeah. She knocks him off his feet, just like the caretaker at the safe house and Tony Stark at the Compound. In those cases, it was because she thought they were a threat, but in this case, as Bucky finds himself flat on his back with the wind knocked out of him, she’s laughing and kissing him randomly all over his face: lips, forehead, nose, cheeks. Which, truth to tell, is a little bit gross given the amount of blood on her, but Bucky doesn’t complain. Partly because she’s positively radiating the same joy he feels, but mostly because he can’t breathe.

Between her uncontrolled laughter and bloody kisses, she keeps repeating variations on the theme of, “Sergeant! It’s you! You’re really my Sergeant! I love you!” while the fighting continues all around as the Tenth Mountain Division continues to mop up the retreating invaders. There’s sporadic gunfire, but it’s getting further away, because the Mountaineers are now chasing the Ten Rings douchebags away from the Logistics building and into the hastily-arranged traps designed to corral and capture as many as possible.

When he can finally breathe, Bucky’s smiling and laughing along with Marya, even as he’s trying to get her to let him up.

“I love you, too, Marya, but c’mon. Not in front of the terrorists.”

The Hulk actually laughs. It’s weird, and kind of scary, but it’s definitely a laugh. 

That’s when The Mandarin gives a low moan and starts to move, and things change fast. Both Bucky and Marya are on their feet instantly, and the Hulk plucks The Mandarin up from the street, both hands around his torso. The Mandarin hangs limply and makes only the merest fumble at resistance. 

Marya looks at Bucky. Her face is suddenly dark and serious, and there’s no need for discussion. “I’ll get Barnes.”

She takes off back to the Logistics building, pulling her sidearm as she goes. Bucky motions for the Hulk to follow, and no one challenges them, even though a nine-foot green dude wearing shredded pants is holding their semi-conscious, weakly struggling leader in his hands. So much for the loyalty of the Ten Rings rank and file to The Mandarin.

It’s a while before Marya comes out of what’s left of the front entrance of the building with a tattered, beat-up Captain America in her wake. By then, the Hulk is no longer anywhere to be seen, and Bucky is holding The Mandarin’s neck in his metal hand, pushing his back up against the brick of the building’s façade and dangling his feet six inches off the ground. 

The look of hatred The Mandarin is giving Bucky only intensifies as he sees Barnes, the helmet disguising his face for the moment. Barnes simply looks at him for a while, grim and silent, with no particular expression on his face. Then, he turns his eyes to Bucky and nods, at which point Bucky simply releases his hold on The Mandarin’s neck and lets him fall to his feet. Too quickly for him to do anything, Barnes clasps The Mandarin’s neck in his own metal hand. He takes his time removing his helmet.

For a brief flash, confusion clouds The Mandarin’s eyes and he flicks them back and forth between Barnes and Bucky. But Barnes doesn’t give him much time to wonder. He takes a step closer, pulling The Mandarin toward him so that there are mere inches between their faces.

“For Steve,” Barnes says, and with a simple twist of his metal hand, snaps the Mandarin’s neck. And then he simply tosses the body to the pavement as though it’s already forgotten.

Calmly and without a word, Barnes turns away from Bucky and Marya and begins to walk slowly away, back straight and strides measured, controlled. But they know him. They can see, as they watch him move down the street, that he is operating solely on instinct, his mind far from here as he removes himself from the presence of anyone else. He slows to a stop about half a block away, in front of another building, keeping his body turned away from what’s happening at the Logistics building and staring down the street at nothing.

Bucky and Marya watch him go, but don’t follow. When he’s out of even supersoldier earshot, Marya asks quietly, “Why did he not take his time? The man who killed Captain Rogers deserved worse than that.”

“Yeah,” Bucky agrees, putting an arm around her shoulders and pulling her against his side. “He did. But Steve would never allow torture, no matter who it was. Especially not in his name.”

Marya nods. “Should someone go to him?”

“I will. Go help Tony arrange to get the others to the quinjet. You need to get out of here before people have time to start asking questions. We’ll follow in the other one.”

Bucky gives her a quick squeeze and begins the walk to where Barnes is standing, not moving. Marya watches until she sees Bucky reach Barnes and put hand on his shoulder. He brings his head close to Barnes’s, and appears to say something. Then she turns and makes her way quickly to the improvised treatment area on the second floor of the Logistics building, where the rest of the team is.

Twenty minutes later, a medevac helicopter lands in a large space between the Logistics building and its nearest neighbor, left empty for just that purpose. The wounded Avengers are quickly brought aboard, and Bruce appears from somewhere, now wearing fatigues. As the chopper takes off toward where the quinjets are parked, Marya and Tony look out the window to see Barnes and Bucky still in the same place on the street. Barnes is on his knees, slumped over with his head hanging, his shoulders heaving. Bucky simply stands next to him with a hand on his shoulder, looking into the distance to allow him privacy to express his grief.

The full medical staff is in place on the medical floor when the team gets back to the Tower. Although the Hulk was shot several times, Bruce is unharmed and helps tend to Clint, who is still unconscious. He’s sustained several serious injuries, but it’s the scans of his head that have the doctors contemplating surgery. His color is an ashen grey, and it simply isn’t right for Clint Barton to be still and quiet. 

Tony lies back, his head on a pillow streaked with drying blood, eyes closed and simply enjoying all the attention as a team cleans the blood from him and addresses his many abrasions and lacerations. His suit is so badly damaged they’re having to peel him out of it like a brazil nut, but it’s toast anyway, so at least they don’t have to be careful.

Marya keeps objecting to being treated, saying that she isn’t hurt and will heal without it, and insisting on being allowed to help tend to her wounded teammates. She’s usually so sweet and confident, it’s jarring to see the fear she’s working to fight and hear the desperation in her voice. The staff is used to this with her, however, and simply move slowly, explaining what they’re going to do before they do it, and making sympathetic noises as they clean and dress her gunshot, stab wounds, and other injuries. 

Sam and Natasha are awake now, Natasha receiving a blood transfusion while Sam gets stitches in the gunshot on his left flank. They’re both complaining, Natasha about being fussed over and Sam about the pain in his wounded right shoulder, but it’s mostly just a way to vent their concern about Clint.

It’s not until hours later that the sound of a quinjet landing is heard. By then, everyone but Clint is at least ambulatory enough to go to the entrance from the landing pad. The doctors object in Sam and Natasha’s cases, but nothing is going to keep them from being there for Barnes right now. 

No one says anything as Barnes and Bucky exit the quinjet and walk across the landing pad to the building entrance. Barnes is calm and has used the flight to clean the blood off his already-healing wounds and change into comfortable clothes, but he looks bleak and drained. He stops just inside the entrance while all of them touch him in some way. Bruce is the first to reach out and pull him into a hug. Natasha hugs him more gingerly, given their wounds and the fact that she’s dealing with crutches. Sam puts a hand heavily on his shoulder and looks deeply into his eyes, until Barnes nods slightly and Sam relents. Marya takes his metal hand in both of hers and kisses his cheek. There’s a weird moment where Tony and Barnes stand face to face, unsure what they want, until Tony says, “Fuck it” under his breath and they clasp eachother hard, and for a long time.

“What do you need?” Tony asks when they let go. 

“I need to see Hawkeye, and then I need a shower.”

“And after that?” Tony knows Barnes understands what he’s asking.

“Spaghetti, of course. And if Barton can’t come to us, I want to have it where he is.”

With that, he starts to move, and the rest of them follow him to the elevator down to the medical floor. Bucky and Marya stand next to one another, holding hands as they descend. She looks a question up at him, and he smiles softly. “First things first,” he says, and she smiles her understanding as she squeezes his hand.

The mood lightens considerably when Clint wakes up. He complains of a massive headache, but the doctors are shocked to find that he has apparently suffered no brain injury.

“That’s no mystery,” Natasha comments drily.

Clint grins. “I know. Thick skull, right?”

“No brain.”

Even Clint laughs at that.

Clint’s been moved to the double room in which Barnes and Bucky spent the night after their gym brawl, because it’s large enough for the big, round table that’s been moved in. It’s next to his bed, so that he has a place at the table along with everyone else. It’s far from the first time they’ve had to have their traditional post-mission meal on the medical floor. They’re just glad there’s only one person confined to bed this time, because it gets crowded and awkward when there’s more than one bed at the table. They’ve had as many as three, which made them have to get creative, but they made it work. Even when one of them is unconscious, if someone’s in medical, they still have the dinner here, so that the whole team is together.

There are unending bowls of Tony’s famous spaghetti, along with a massive bowl of salad and baskets of garlic bread. The wine is a hearty red from a vineyard Tony owns. It’s their traditional after-mission meal, and despite its seeming informality, they all know that it’s even more important than the debrief they’ll have in the morning. 

Barnes is quiet. He’s only minimally participating in the conversation, but he’s paying attention, smiling at the jokes and occasionally commenting. They all understand. Killing The Mandarin and almost certainly destroying the Ten Rings was the last step in saying goodbye to his husband, the man he’s known his entire life, and loved almost that long. It’s gonna take a while. He may not be as much a part of the conversation as usual, but the Avengers don’t need him to be. They love him, pure and simple. He needs to be around people right now, needs life and laughter and friendship, so that’s what he gets. 

Throughout dinner, Marya’s been murmuring her love to Bucky, and she’s often been overcome by her need to kiss him, now that she knows for sure that, miraculously, this is her Sergeant, right here by her side. She’s kissed his cheek, the hand she’s holding under the table, his shoulder, and when she leans over to whisper “I love you, Sergeant” and Bucky turns to catch her kiss with his lips, Tony hits his limit.

“Guys? I know you’re, like, having a moment and shit, but I’ve had a day. I really don’t need to be hearing this kind of mush. Take it somewhere else.”

Barnes surprises everyone by speaking up. “Don’t. Not yet. I could use some good news today. Just… maybe not in English, huh?”

“Or Russian, or French, or Italian, or Latin…” Natasha adds.

Bucky turns to Marya and says - in Icelandic, because he doubts Natasha speaks Icelandic and he’s pretty sure Marya does - “I love you, too. How long do these dinners usually last?”

His implication is clear and Marya, who has today killed several people and maimed many more, blushes like a schoolgirl. 

“I don’t know how much better that is,” Sam groans, seeing her expression, but he’s also grinning. 

“I have a complaint,” Clint says. “Not about you, murder twins,” he assures Bucky and Marya, whose heads swivel toward him in unison. “How come no one thought to get a picture of Tony flying through the air with a hot Russian assassin under each arm?”

“Jarvis?” Tony calls.

“Yes, sir.”

“I know you’re monitoring all media so Pepper and her team can scrub any evidence of us out of it. But if you run across a picture or, better yet, video-“

“Understood, Sir. Here are some images I’ve removed so far.”

Jarvis projects a few blurry and poorly-focused shots obviously taken from some soldier’s cell phone onto the wall of the hospital room. Then one comes up, crisp and clear, showing the three of them in flight. Ironman’s mask is, of course, fixed, but Marya is smiling broadly, obviously enjoying the flight even in the midst of a battle, while they’re being shot at. Even Natasha, although obviously deeply focused on the fight, is also smiling.

“Nat, I… What are you doing with your mouth? Is that...”

“Zip it, Stark.”

“No, really, Natasha,” Clint picks up the thread. “That expression, where your mouth turns up and you show your teeth? Unless you’re a chimpanzee, it’s not perceived as a threat. That’s called a smile. It’s how ordinary humans express enjoyment.”

She frowns disdainfully. “It was slow and we barely cleared the rooftops.”

“Nope,” Sam says. “That’s definitely a smile. Evidence doesn’t lie.”

A short video comes up next, capturing a few seconds of the flight, and Natasha’s face shows clearly that she’s having fun. Everyone laughs, including Natasha, and Barnes hardest of all. 

“I can’t believe I missed that!” He laments, before launching into a description of what he was doing at the time, which was decapitating two creeps with one throw of the shield. It’s the most he says all night, and he was right. They do believe him. 

Eventually, the doctor who drew the short straw comes in to insist that they should really allow Clint to rest. The team reluctantly decides it’s time to end the evening. They’re actually all tired and, except for Bucky, in various states of injury. Sam, thoughtful and perceptive, suspects that Barnes isn’t ready to be alone yet, and suggests a movie. He’s right. Barnes accepts, and Bruce and Natasha decide to join them. 

Tony wants to get into his workshop, having already had several ideas for upgrades to the suit. Besides, although he doesn’t say anything, he’s also got something on his mind. Today, for the first time, he was struck by the amount of Stark Industries weaponry used by the Ten Rings soldiers. He’s had no time to give it any real thought, but it hasn’t been far from his mind, either. He wants some time to design and tinker while he mulls it over, and he doesn’t want anyone around while he does it. Because there’s a strange sensation behind it all, one with which Tony Stark is very unfamiliar. It’s shame, and he doesn’t like it one bit.

Although Bucky and Marya would be welcome to watch the movie with them, no one suggests it. Everyone is acutely aware that they have somewhere else to be. 

Once they say good night to the rest of the team, Bucky keeps hold of Marya’s hand and purposely walks more slowly than usual as they make their way to her apartment. She pulls at his hand at first, urging him to hurry. He knows how eager and aggressive she can be and, under other circumstances, he’d be racing her to her door. But she’s wounded. She won’t admit it, of course, and she wouldn’t let it interfere with whatever they wanted to do, but he’s not willing to hurt her. Besides, he wants to draw out these last few moments of anticipation. Not that he has much more patience than she does, but he’s enjoying the hell out of the flutters in his stomach and the heat building in his groin. He suspects she’s feeling a lot like he is, and he likes the idea that he’s making her a little crazy right now.

They’ve chosen Marya’s apartment because Bucky’s never been there, and because it’s bound to have more of a home atmosphere than his does, given he’s only recently arrived. He’s also curious. She was a prisoner in Hydra’s bunker, and a guest everywhere else they were together. He wants to see what she’s done, now that she has a home of her own. 

She flicks a switch to fill the room with warm light, but she doesn’t give him much of a chance to look around. They barely take time to kick off their shoes. They’re only a few steps inside when she throws her arms around his neck and pulls him to her, kissing him harder than he thinks could be comfortable given her swollen, split lower lip. Still, he can’t stop himself from sliding a hand into her hair and kissing her back just as hard.

“Doesn’t that hurt?” He asks breathlessly when their mouths separate briefly. 

“Doesn’t what hurt?”

“Your lip. You got punched.”

“I don’t care, Sergeant. I need to kiss you.”

“Yeah, but, I don’t want to hurt you.”

“Sergeant,” she says, pulling back enough to look into his eyes. “I love you. I love you, and you’re here with me, and it’s a miracle and you are the most beautiful man I have ever seen. Please let me kiss you the way I want. The way I need to…”

And she’s back to kissing him, just as hard and using her lips just as fully as she had been. Bucky lets it go. She’s the boss. Besides which, he’s fully hard now and she’s pulling at his shirt. She gives a needy, breathy noise as he lifts his arms to let her take it off, and he takes advantage of the slight separation between them to unzip the short, tight warm-up jacket she’s wearing and pull it off, then yanks her tank top over her head before she can reach for him again. 

That’s all the separation he can take for a while, so when their lips come together again, he reaches down to lift her, feeling just a little less desperate for contact when she wraps her legs snugly around him.

“I love you so much,” he murmurs into her mouth, finally letting himself give in to the invitation she’s been licking across his lips for several minutes. He slides his tongue across hers and begins to use it in the way he’s wanted to since he arrived in this universe. He can feel her answering moan in his cock. 

He starts to walk toward her bedroom, which is a slow process because he’s actually a little dizzy with desire. When she reaches behind her back with one hand and unhooks her bra, pulling it roughly from between them, he gives up for the moment and settles for leaning her against the wall outside the bedroom door. This way, he can hold her up with his metal arm and use his flesh hand to touch her, and he can also adjust their bodies so that she’s rubbing against his erection. Which she does, purposefully and obscenely, whispering soft, appreciative expletives as she tilts her head back to allow him access to her neck.

He wonders why she chooses to whisper them in Russian, but he’s way too far gone to form the words to ask.

Very quickly, as he begins to slide his lips across and down her neck, he becomes desperate to get his mouth on all of her. As he kisses his way down, he steps away from the wall so that he can lean her back against his arm and reach her breasts with his tongue. She cries out and arches into him, and soon he takes as much of her firm, compact breast in his mouth as he can while he licks around and across the hard nipple, making her shiver. 

“Sergeant, please,” Marya breathes as she pulls herself back upright. “Take me to bed. I need to feel your skin against me.”

Bucky wastes no time striding into the bedroom and tossing her bodily onto the bed, leaping so that he lands next to her before she’s even stopped bouncing. There are probably lights in here, but Bucky’s not thinking about that, he’s fine with the soft, indirect light from the living room. He turns toward her, lifting his arm to put it around her, but she’s already pulling at the button of his jeans. They’re new, so the fabric is a little stiff, and it takes a fraction of a second, which is too long for her. She grunts impatiently, making Bucky smile and chuckle. But when she quickly gets his fly undone and begins to slide his jeans down his hips, he gets busy helping her and forgets what was funny. 

He has to take her wrists in his hands when she gets his jeans fully off, to keep her from touching him. He knows what her hands and mouth are capable of, and he doesn’t want to be fully under her spell until she’s completely naked, like he is. It takes no time to tug her yoga pants and panties from her, but she still whimpers with impatience before he’s back beside her and she can put her hands on him again. 

She surprises him, though, by placing one hand flat on his chest and wrapping the other around his metal bicep, and focusing her lust-filled brown eyes on his. “I’m sorry I didn’t know it was you, Sergeant. I know I hurt you, and I… I love you more than I’ve ever loved anyone.”

“Do you know it’s me now?”

“Yes. I do.”

“That’s all I want. It’s all I need.”

“I think I always knew, I was just afraid to believe it. It was too good to be true, that you could be here with me.” Tears in her eyes catch the light from the other room.. “I missed you so much, I thought about you all the time…”

“Shhhh…” Bucky soothes, pulling her to him, holding her close and cradling her head in his hand. “I’m here now. We’re together. I won’t let us be separated again.”

She sucks in a breath at that. He loosens his hold and tips his head, so that he can see her face. 

“Is that OK? That I want to be with you? I… I guess I assumed a lot there-“

“Is that _OK?”_

Bucky grins. She’s actually a little… affronted, he guesses, might describe it. “Does that mean you want me to be yours? Because that’s what I want.”

“Sergeant, you are very beautiful, and I love you with my whole soul, but that is a dumb question.”

“Answer it anyway.”

“Yes. I want you to be mine. Yes, _of course_ I want you to be mine! I have wanted you for my own since the airplane to Siberia, when almost your first words were to insult Herr Hellner.”

“He was a dick.”

“Yes. But I do not want to talk about him. I want you to tell me that you will be mine.”

“I hate to tell you, sweetheart, but I’ve been yours for a while now.”

Bucky’s rewarded, blissfully rewarded, with another of those irresistible looks of Marya’s. “Why would you hate to tell me that? That is what I’ve dreamed of hearing.”

“No, it’s…” He’s laughing and pressing her to him, and has trouble getting the words out. “It’s an expression. I’m happy. I’m so happy… And I’m yours.”

“And I am yours?”

“You tell me.”

“Yes. I am yours. I have been yours for a very long time, Sergeant.”

“Oh, sweetheart, I love you…”

“I love you, too. And I want you.” She slides her hands, side by side, down his chest and takes his cock into them as he kisses her, deeply and hungrily. 

Now that Bucky’s said what he needed to, and heard what he needed to hear, that’s all it takes to turn the mood from romantic to sexual. Bucky gasps when Marya begins to stroke him, and cooperates when she rolls him onto his back. She’s not in the mood to tease him and worship his body as she sometimes does. Instead, she shifts lower in the bed and takes his cock into her mouth, still holding it with one hand. She takes as much of him as she can, spending several long, breathtaking minutes reacquainting herself with him while he groans in ecstasy and fists the sheets trying to hold back. 

“Marya! Baby, I’m gonna come if you keep that up. Come here.” He reaches for her and urges her back up the bed. She’s already half-drunk with lust and can barely focus her eyes on him. “Let me, too.” 

He tries to take his time, enjoying the feel and taste of her breasts, sliding a hand up the inside of her thigh and feeling her open her legs to him. But when he feels her dripping wetness, he decides that’s going to have to wait. He follows her example and goes straight to it, pushing her thighs apart and lowering himself to take a long, slow taste. She shudders at the feel of his tongue running all the way from her perineum to her clit. He licks a circle around the hard nub, feeling her hips come up off the bed as he does. OK, then. He doesn’t want her to come until he’s inside her, so he focuses his attention on her opening, circling the rim with his tongue several times and listening to her desperate whimpers before forcing it inside her as far as he can. She’s close. He can feel it in the tense muscles of her thighs, and in the way she’s actually fucking his tongue. He can also hear it in her cries.

He doesn’t keep her waiting long; he just needed to taste her again, to remind himself of the feel of her in his mouth. Once he crawls back up to hover over her, she clasps him with her arms and legs and he moves his hips, finding his place easily and sinking into her with a shuddering moan. 

They both try to be romantic about things, kissing as he thrusts into her and she bucks her hips into him, but they’re beyond that for the moment. Their kisses are sloppy and haphazard, with a few gasped “I love you’s” in between, but all their attention is focused on the almost unbearable pleasure of impending climax. 

She shifts her hips subtly, and some muscle memory tells him that she’s seeking just that last extra bit of friction against her clit that will send her over the edge. She finds it and he has the remembered delight of hearing her shout, “Sergeant!” as her orgasm tears through her.

It’s everything he can do to fuck her through it, as hot as the picture and sound of her completely out of control is, without coming himself. But he manages to hold off until he feels her start to come down. 

“Come with me,” Marya murmurs, “Let me feel you come inside me.”

That’s it for Bucky’s self-control, and he explodes into her with a garbled cry somewhere between her name and “I love you” that he’ll be a little embarrassed by in a few minutes. For right now, he’s rocked by wave after wave of glorious release, spasming for what feels like forever. 

He doesn’t give in to the flood of languid tenderness threatening to overtake him, however. Not yet. While he’s still firm enough to stay inside her, he begins to circle his hips experimentally against her.

“Come on. Give me another.”

He doesn’t have to ask twice. Marya begins to move, grinding against him, and takes no time to find the right spot. Within a minute, she’s whining into his shoulder, bucking hard as he gives her another orgasm.

Now he can collapse, and he does, falling onto his side and pulling her with him so that she’s lying halfway on top of him.

“You are my Sergeant,” she sighs into his chest. “You really are.”

“Mmmmm. I really am.”

She lifts her head to look at him. “Then you are not done.”

He smiles at her wicked expression. “I thought we’d cuddle for a minute.”

“We will. But first I want to give you more love.”

He’s gooey and probably sweaty, but she’s never cared about that. She has the patience to kiss her way down his body this time, until she gets to his still half-hard cock. She lavishes a great deal of attention there, licking and kissing and sucking, teasing his slit with the tip of her tongue and stroking him until he’s hard again. 

But that’s not all she wants. She remembers how much he loves to feel her mouth on his hole, and the sounds she can make him utter when she uses her fingers just right inside of him. So that’s what she does. Soon he’s moving his hips crazily, trying to fuck into her hand around his cock and grind down onto her fingers inside him at the same time while she sucks softly at his balls. 

She actually smiles against him when he comes, this time with a throaty scream he’s not even aware of. He can only pay attention to so many things at one time, after all.

After a long interval of snuggling and ridiculously sweet pillow talk full of declarations of love and compliments so sappy even Sam would have protested, they snooze for a while. It’s less than an hour, however, before Bucky dimly realizes he has Marya’s bare breast under his hand, and his caresses wake her back up. This time, he sits up against the upholstered headboard of her bed and she straddles his lap. He watches himself make her come with his fingers before she uses her legs to ride his cock until it’s her turn to watch him come. 

“You’re so fucking sexy,” he growls into her ear as he’s recovering. 

“I’m glad you think so, because I want more sex from you tonight,” she giggles.

“Greedy.”

“Missed you.”

After kissing for a very long time with her on his lap, Bucky suggests a shower.

“I do not think I want to stand up. I have a bathtub. I like baths. I never had one before I came here.”

Bucky’s never thought of baths as more than a means to get clean, but he feels like spoiling Marya, so he agrees. He learns, over the course of the next hour, that baths can be a lot more fun than he knew.

Now that they’re in the light, though, he finds himself fussing over Marya’s injuries. She’s tender where a bullet went through the meat of her left arm, and she pushes his hand away from the long knife wound on the right side of her abdomen. The stab wounds, one in her mid-abdomen and the other in her left thigh, were incurred early enough in the day that they’re healing and only mildly painful, at least by a supersoldier’s definition of pain.

Finally, when she’s had enough of him worrying about hurting her, she gets out of the bathtub and lights some of the candles placed around her bathroom. She turns off the lights and carefully climbs back into the tub, spreading out on top of Bucky. 

“There. Now you can ignore them.”

“But you’re hurt-“

“If you are tired, then just relax and let me fuck you,” she says firmly. 

“No, but… Marya, you got shot and stabbed today. More than once. Are you afraid I’m going to make you go to the medical floor? Because I know how much you hate it, and you’ve already been there.”

“No,” she answers, floating herself down so she can cover his chest with open mouthed kisses. 

“You’re trying to distract me.”

“Yes,” she mumbles around a mouthful of his nipple.

“C’mon. Talk to me. What is it?” He nudges her with a shoulder so she’ll look at him.

“I want to make love with you. I’ve been wanting you for so long… Please don’t make me stop because of some insignificant wounds.”

Bucky stops just short of a laugh of relief. “Oh, honey. I’m not going to stop you. I’m just trying to take care of you, is all.”

“Thank you. I like that. But the way to take care of me is to stop babying me and pay attention,” she smiles, going back to what she was doing.

Bucky’s surprised by the sunrise. He’d lost track of time. He’d meant to let Marya sleep after the long, hard battle she’d fought the day before. Then again, she hadn’t let him sleep, either.


	19. After The Fight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The team has a debrief of the fight at Fort Drum, but first there's some business to take care of. After that, it's time to train, and then it's game night, Avengers style. Thor surprises everyone when he shows up and somehow knows Bucky and Marya.

They should be down in the kitchen, having breakfast with the rest of the team. There’s a formal debrief after that, which is mandatory, at least for Marya. Somehow, after what happened at Fort Drum the day before, it feels to both of them like it’s mandatory for Bucky now, too. But they can’t get out of bed. They’ve tried twice now. 

The first time, Bucky had stood and tried to pull Marya up with him, but she’d simply tripped him to the floor and landed, naked and demanding, on top of him. He’d really tried to resist. For a good five seconds, he’d tried to stiff-arm her and refuse to kiss her. But then she’d always fought dirty. She’d simply stopped trying to kiss him and sat up straddling his hips. 

“I want to have sex with you, Sergeant,” she’d said, then begun sliding her hands up her own body. “But if you will not have sex with me, I will have sex alone and think about you.”

By the time her fingers had teased her nipples to hardness, the show and her gyrations had teased his cock to hardness, too, and he’d had no choice but to fuck her, hard, there on the floor. Afterward, they’d crawled back under the covers to kiss and cuddle for a while.

The second time, Marya had playfully asked Bucky to carry her to the shower, and he’d agreed. They might have made it if he’d carried her bridal style, but he’d made the mistake of pulling her into his arms and letting her wrap her legs around his waist. By the time they’d made it to the entrance to the bathroom, he was already hard enough that his cock was pressing up against the inviting pucker of her ass. And since the lube was in the bedside table, he’d been forced to carry her back there, which… 

So now they’re still in bed, they’ve pretty much missed breakfast, and neither one of them has any desire to be anywhere but where they are. They’ve decided not to go to the debrief. If anyone tries to make them, they will demand an exemption on the basis that they’ve just been reunited after several years and are therefore entitled under international – and perhaps interuniversal – law to at least three solid days of reunion sex. 

“I think Mr. Stark will figure out that switch now,” Marya is saying. “If he does, would you ever want to go back to our universe?”

“Depends on whether he can figure out the landing. Because that shit seriously sucks.”

Marya doesn’t laugh, which lets Bucky know that she’s not asking an idle question. It doesn’t take much to figure out what she’s actually asking.

“Hey,” he says, and tips her chin up to look him in the eye. “I came to this universe to find you because I love you. You are the person I want to be with for the rest of my life.”

“But…”

“No, Marya. There’s no ‘but.’ There’s no Steve. He’s made his choice and that’s over. And I’ve made my choice. I choose you.”

Now Marya does laugh, the sweet, uninhibited way she expresses happiness too great to contain. She tightens her arms around Bucky, squeezing him with unrestrained delight. Which, honestly, hurts a little bit, but he’s not going to mention it. 

“My Sergeant, mine forever! How can I be so lucky? Can we get married?”

“Yes, but you have to let me ask you.”

“Why?”

“It’s the rules.”

“No, it isn’t.”

“It is for me. I’m old fashioned.”

She leans up on an elbow so she can see his face. “But you will ask?”

“Yes, Marya. I will.” Then, teasing her but also meaning every word, he adds, “You have to wait, though. I wanna do it right.”

“I can wait. As long as you are here with me.”

There’s a happy silence for a bit as they both think about what they’ve just decided so easily. After a few minutes, Marya says, “Steve Rogers is a putz.”

“A putz?” Bucky barks out a surprised laugh.

“Did I use that wrong? Clint said it means-“

“You used it right. And accurately, too. It’s just cute, coming from you.”

“If Mr. Stark ever does figure out how to make that switch work backwards, I’m going to find Captain Rogers and tell him he is a putz. I will probably punch him, too.”

“He’s an old man, you know.”

“Good. I might actually be able to hurt him now.”

“But if he hadn’t gone back to Peggy Carter, then you and I wouldn’t be here together.”

“I don’t care. I’m still going to do it. He deserves it.”

Bucky laughs. “Can’t argue that. But I’m too happy to be very mad at him right now.”

“Me, too.”

“Let’s just wish him well, and hope that he’s happy, too.”

“All right, Sergeant, if you ask me to. But I’m going to make you happier than he is. Just to spite him.”

“That’ll show him.”

That’s when Tony’s annoyed voice comes from the speakers that usually only broadcast Jarvis’s melodious British-accented politeness.

“Hey, lovebirds, debrief’s in fifteen minutes. Which means if you’re not in the conference room in ten, I’m turning on the fire sprinklers.”

“You wouldn’t do that,” Bucky laughs.

“No, _Jarvis_ wouldn’t do that, which is why you’re talking to me. And he wouldn’t let me set ‘em off without giving you a warning first, either. But he will let me manually set ‘em off in ten minutes. Well, nine minutes and forty-five seconds now.”

“Sir, that’s unfair. We believe we’re entitled to-“

“Stark out.”

Bucky hisses a very impolite word, but in his current blissed-out state, the effect isn’t very impressive.

In the conference room, Tony informs Bucky and Marya that the team have voted to require them to sit on opposite sides of the table. The vote wasn’t unanimous, he says, but he won’t tell them the count, or how anyone voted.

Bucky’s tempted to think they’re kidding, until he sees Marya’s face and watches her obediently take a seat between Natasha and Barnes. He takes the remaining seat at the table between Bruce and Sam. He scowls at Tony, who is standing at the head of the conference room table, and is surprised when Tony responds by smiling back, his eyes crinkling with joy. 

“Well,” Tony says, clearing his throat a little. “I suppose we oughtta get this meeting started. But before we begin the formal debrief, we took another vote this morning that you two oughtta know about.”

Marya’s eyes have just enough fear in them to worry Bucky, even though everyone else at the table looks calm. A little too calm, maybe? Like there’s some emotion everyone’s suppressing as they focus on Tony more intently than Bucky’s ever seen them do at any other meeting. Tony’s the only one with an expression on his face; he’s still smiling like a lunatic. 

“Barnes?” Tony says with a wave of his hand, and sits down.

Barnes rises and faces Bucky across the table. And then, suddenly, he’s smiling, too. “Bucky, after what you did yesterday, we’re certain – all of us - that you’ve been straight with us all along about who you are. It’s also certain that we and a lot of other people would be dead today if you hadn’t come through for us yesterday.”

Marya beams and struggles to stay quiet and seated in her excitement. Bucky finds himself smiling, too, a warmth washing through him that he hasn’t felt in a very long time. This group, which includes three people he’d thought lost to him forever, has done him the honor of trusting him, something he knows must have been very difficult for some of them to do.

“Thank you. All of you. I appreciate the faith you showed, giving me access to a quinjet and weapons. It was an honor to fight with –“

“Will you shut the fuck up? I ain’t done,” Barnes snaps, but with a grin.

Bucky’s mouth shuts with an audible click.

“We’re hearing from the guys in the CAB, and there’s video of what you did there. The Hulk saw what you did to help him capture the Mandarin, but of course, Banner doesn’t remember that, so we’ve been watchin’ video of that, too.” A spasm of pain crosses Barnes’s handsome face as he mentions the Mandarin, but he buries it almost instantly.

“Your hair is an insult to the me’s in every universe, and I don’t know why the fuck you’d ever let anyone call you that lame nickname, but you do OK,” Barnes continues, getting snickers from half the people at the table and groans from the other half. 

And then he gets very serious. “Which is why we want you on the team. This is a formal invitation to become one of us. And you should know that becoming a member of the Avengers Initiative requires a unanimous vote of the whole team.”

There’s a moment of expectant silence, where everyone stares at Bucky, waiting for him to react. He sits there, stunned into apparent catatonia, for several breaths before the moment is broken from an unexpected quarter.

“You didn’t let me vote,” Marya objects.

Barnes, grinning, looks down at her, seated next to where he’s standing. “Didn’t think there was any question how you’d vote. Were we wrong?”

“No. But for the record, I vote yes!”

At her exultant shout, the suppressed excitement and elation in the room finally erupt. Bucky finds himself engulfed in a scrum of Avengers, which he’s glad of for a couple of reasons. First, it seems like the right way to celebrate such a monumental moment. And second, it lets him surreptitiously wipe his tears on them as they all hug him. 

Bucky isn’t the only one with moist eyes when, after quite some time, everyone moves back to their seats. He’s surprised to see that one of those having the most trouble concealing their emotions is Tony Stark. But then he remembers what Tony told him that day in his lab, about his fear that he would ruin what this universe’s Steve Rogers worked so hard for. Bucky doesn’t need to be the exquisitely-trained expert he is to see, in the relaxed set of Tony’s shoulders and the new-found peace in his eyes, that a massive weight has been lifted from him. Bucky put a large part of that weight on Tony himself, simply by showing up in this universe. But now that the weight of responsibility for deciding whether Bucky can be trusted is gone, a great deal of the weight of losing Steve Rogers from the team has lifted, too. 

Because Bucky was made to be an Avenger. He didn’t choose to be made into what he is, as this universe’s Barnes did, or as Steve did. But Bucky’s Steve rescued him from Hydra, and gave him the ability to choose what to do with it. And this is what he chooses. 

Bucky feels something deep inside him click into place. From the moment he’s been free to choose, this is what he’s chosen. Good, and right, and protecting people rather than hurting them. Which means that this is who he is. He is not the things Hydra told him he was, or even the things he’s been telling himself he is. Oh, he’s the Winter Soldier, all right, and he’s for damn sure a weapon. But he’s a weapon on the right side. 

He wishes, for just a second, that he could tell Steve. 

*****

For the Avengers, firearms practice involves a good amount of shooting at stationary targets. Although no one can touch Clint with a bow and arrow (nor does anyone but him really want to use one in combat), they’re all good shots with firearms. No one can rival Barnes - and now Bucky - with a gun, but it’s inspirational for the rest of the team to have someone that skilled around. And for the two of them, it’s a gift they never expected to get, having someone of equivalent skill around to challenge them. They enjoy the hell out of their fierce, raucous, sometimes vicious competition, and even in the short time Bucky’s been with the Avengers Initiative, both have improved their already extraordinary skills as a result.

The others are as competitive with each other as Barnes and Bucky are. Marya and Sam, in particular, are in a constant battle to best each other’s scores. It’s friendly enough – usually – and it makes them better at what they do, so their rivalry is encouraged. 

More often than stationary targets, however, firearms practice involves shooting at moving targets, because so does saving the world. Tony designed a system that the Avengers can use to create wicked training environments, configuring them to simulate all sorts of situations and present a wide range of challenges. They try to outdo each other in creating simulations that involve the most athleticism and skill, and have the greatest potential for kicking your ass if you fuck up.

Marya’s spent the day in firearms training, and she’s tired and sore. She’s also a bit discouraged, because she hasn’t yet mastered Natasha’s latest training course. In fact, she got shot and knocked off a five-story building three times today. True, the training environment doesn’t shoot real bullets, but the pain when the rubber bullets impact on your protective armor is real, as are the bruises. And the five-story fall is real, even if the mats and safety ropes do cushion the landing. A little.

She’s looking forward to a long, hot shower as she lets herself into her apartment, but she stops dead and her mind goes completely blank as she looks past her living room into her little kitchen. 

Bucky stands in the doorway smiling at her, clean-shaven with significantly shorter hair than he’d had in the morning. It’s still chin-length; he likes it long and he doesn’t want to wear it the same way Barnes does. But it’s a very different look than he’d arrived with. And it’s exactly the way he looked the day they’d met.

Marya’s floored. She stands for a moment, goggling stupidly at him and moving her lips but making no sound until she finally chokes out, “Your hair…”

“Yeah, got tired of Sam givin’ me shit about it.”

“That is not why.”

He probably should have expected this. Hell, he kind of did; this is Marya, after all. Bucky stops trying to bluff his way through the moment. “I let it grow when I was feeling sorry for myself. Couldn’t be bothered. Thought it was about time I get over myself and grab the reins a little bit here.”

“Sergeant, you look beautiful. Perfect. I mean, you always look beautiful and perfect, but now you look like my Sergeant again. Like when I met you. Before you were so unhappy.”

“Yeah. That’s kind of how I feel.”

She’s smiling back at him now, and practically launches herself at him. He braces himself for impact just in time, and then he’s holding an armload of delighted, if sweaty, giggling woman. 

“I want you to be happy here with me.”

“I am happy, Marya. That’s why I decided to stop lookin’ like I did when I wasn’t.”

“I’m glad. I’m so glad, Sergeant.”

Bucky moves to set Marya down on her feet. “Go take a shower. It’s game night.”

Marya laughs giddily and tries to pull him by his hand toward the bathroom. “You come, too.”

“I already had a shower. Anyway, I have to go get us some cash. Tonight’s bowling. Have you ever bowled?”

“What is bowled?”

“That’s a no, then. OK. I’ll get a lot of cash. Looks like you’re gonna lose big.”

Tony went through a period where he wanted to create something like the holodeck on Star Trek. He never got quite there, but he did end up with a system on which they can play hundreds of different games, from console-style games like Galaga to real sports like skiing and, yeah, bowling. The game environment fills a large room, and it’s like a combination of a bunch of different game systems, only more immersive and infinitely more fun. Sales of the commercial version of the system have recently made Tony his latest billion.

But the way the Avengers play isn’t exactly the way the system is advertised. Marya’s been known to hack it to make it do surprising things (Sam especially did not appreciate the random knife-wielding attack octopi she programmed into Minecraft), and Natasha refuses to play any game unless they find a way to play for money.

There’s always drinking, overly-competitive behavior, trash-talking, and above all, raucous laughter. Tonight’s game is kind of like league bowling, in that there are three lanes, three teams, and competition for the high score. But that’s about where the similarity ends. First of all, because the environment’s virtual, and it’s Tony. So in the Avengers’ version, the “bowling alley” has chandeliers and plays ‘80’s hair metal so loud it’s hard to hear the insults flying everywhere, and everything’s red and gold. The virtual players in the non-active lanes are all recognizable: for example, there’s a team made up of James Dean, Mary Magdalene, and Boba Fett, and another featuring Stephen Hawking and Hall & Oates. Tony does make everyone wear bowling shoes and he’s had league shirts made, but the shoes are designed to resemble each player’s fighting signature (Bruce’s are green with black leather fringe) and the shirts are silk. 

There are bets on everything. Natasha bets Clint three hundred bucks that Tony’s next ball will be a strike. When Sam rolls a particularly ugly split, Bruce bets him five hundred that he can’t pick it up. Tony bets Scott on what Bucky’s next swear word will be. And there are bizarre rules. Anyone who leaves only the seven pin standing has to play the rest of the game in their underwear and pay everyone else a hundred bucks, but if anyone leaves only the nine pin standing, everyone else has to strip to their underwear and pay that person a hundred bucks. No one can use a ball of any color found in their shoes. New rules keep being added until they become so complicated that Jarvis is enlisted to keep track of them all and to tally the amounts of money won and lost. 

And shit blows up. Marya may never have bowled before, but she figured the game could only be enhanced by the occasional randomly-exploding bowling ball, so she’d programmed that in the day before. Bruce, who is an outstanding bowler, decides that having the pins blown up shouldn’t count as a strike, because there’s no skill involved. So an explosion counts as a gutterball. And actual gutterballs are a disaster, because Marya’s filled the gutters with virtual jelly. A gutterball splashes jelly onto the lane and it stays there, becoming something the bowler has to take into account in their aiming and strategy.

In lane one are Barnes, Clint, and Scott, who’s back visiting. Barnes, in his red-and-white-striped shoes with large blue stars on the sides, is doing well because he’s strong enough to power his ball through the slowing effect of the jelly copiously splashed across his lane by Clint’s unfortunate tendency to hook left. Scott just tries to splash as much jelly as possible before, inevitably, his ball is slowed to a stop in the muck. 

Lane two - Natasha, Bucky, and Bruce’s lane - remains jelly-free. Bruce is in the lead, but the other two have impressive scores, as well. It’s the alley that looks the most like an actual game of bowling, except for the bomb craters and scorch marks.

The hopeless quagmire of jelly in the third lane was set on fire when one of Marya’s balls blew up. Sam, though, seems to have figured out the right approach and has even made a couple of strikes, although the lane is still steadily burning. Tony is clearly cheating somehow, and has the highest score of anyone despite their alley being full of flaming goo. Marya has yet to knock down a pin, but she’s having a great time.

That’s when Thor makes his appearance. 

His arrival isn’t that much of a surprise, really, in that when Thor shows up, it’s always random and unannounced. But they haven’t seen him in many years. In fact, they haven’t seen him since Marya’s been in this universe. And his presence on the rooftop quinjet platform has set off the intruder alarm and set them all scrambling. 

He’s Thor, of course, so the chances of him being hurt are pretty slim, but the Avengers are all in various stages of intoxication, which makes his manner of arrival somewhat ill-advised. Which he acknowledges when Tony, among the drunkest, begins yelling almost immediately. 

“Thor, you dumbass, I could’ve blasted you into next week!”

“Could you? So you’ve invented a time weapon? How exciting!”

Tony shakes his head. Thor can be really frustrating. 

“He means we could have thought you were a real intruder and shot you,” Barnes sighs, shouldering his weapon. 

“You ever heard of calling first?” Natasha asks, but she’s smiling and walking toward him for a hug. 

After everyone has stepped forward to greet him, Thor sees Bucky and Marya standing together, a little bit behind the others. He squints.

“Bucky! Marya! Well met!” He calls to them in his booming voice, once he recognizes them. In his ridiculous, godlike stride, he reaches them in two steps and takes them both into his arms. He’s beaming while they’re both slack-jawed, pretty much like everyone else on the platform.

“What the hell?” Clint’s the first to find his voice. “How do you know who that is?”

“We know one another. It is good to see you, and I’m pleased to see that you have found one another again.”

“But… you’re…” Tony tries. 

“What is it, friend Tony? You seem to be alarmed.”

“Well, _yeah_! Barnes doesn’t go by Bucky, and there’s two of him, in case you haven’t noticed. And how the hell do you know Marya? She doesn’t even exist in this universe, not like this.”

Thor laughs, finally understanding, and squeezes Bucky and Marya, each in one massive arm. “Oh, yes, that would be confusing for you. I know them in their universe.”

The noise rising up from the city is too loud for them to hear the sound of crickets, even if it was actually audible.

“Thor, what the fuck,” Sam finally asks, as gobsmacked as the rest and really needing his buzz back at this moment. “Are you saying that you’re interdimensional? Or that you can hop universes? Whatever the terminology is?” 

“Of course not. I am of Asgard. There is only one Asgard. The Bifrost travels to-“

“Wait,” Natasha says, holding up a hand, palm out, toward Thor. “You know what? Just stop. I am both too drunk and not drunk enough for this. I’m done. I’m calling it.” With that, she simply walks back into the building.

The rest of the evening passes in finishing their game while Thor tries valiantly to understand the rules. Tony programs a lane for Thor so that he can join in, giving him Eleanor Roosevelt and Babe Ruth for teammates. The best part of watching Thor learn the Avengers’ version of bowling is his absolute childlike glee each time his ball explodes.

Breakfast the following morning begins as a somber affair. The serum prevents Barnes, Bucky, and Marya from getting drunk, so they’re the only ones not hung over. The group ends up having to forbid Thor from speaking, because no matter how hard he tries, he cannot quiet his booming voice and their headaches simply won’t tolerate that shit. The good news is that Tony is a forward thinker, and there are pitchers of Bloody Marys and mimosas to take the edge off. Thor, not really familiar with these drinks or the concept of pitchers, just puts a straw in one and goes for it.

Once breakfast is over, those who feel capable decide to purge the residual alcohol from their systems by sweating it out in the gym. As they go, Tony gives Barnes and Bucky his now-customary dirty look and points at them, silent and accusatory. They nod in acquiescence, as usual, and – also as usual – trade smirks and fist bumps once Tony’s back is turned. 

Tony and Bruce drag Thor up to Tony’s workshop. They can’t wait to see what Asgardian knowledge might have to offer the project of creating a new switch that would allow them to travel to alternate universes. Although Thor gets bored early, they keep him there, asking him questions that are to him so basic an Asgardian child would ask them in a classroom. He answers, because he’s polite and they’re his friends, but he’d really rather be in the gym with the others.

That night, once most of the team members have gone to bed, Tony invites Thor to join him for a late-night cigar on the landing pad outside his penthouse. Thor is thousands of years old and knows when someone needs a private talk, but he’s not a big fan of cigars.

“Could we not relax in the Common Room instead? That is the place for serious discussions, is it not?”

“Yeah, usually,” Tony agrees. “But it’s also directly underneath Bucky and Marya’s apartment. I haven’t perfected the soundproofing yet, and I can’t get them to move, so it’s not a great place to hang out without headphones on these days.”

“I do not understand.”

“Supersoldier sex is loud, Thor. It’s not just the shouting, either. There’s a lot of thudding and stuff. Things get broken a lot.”

“Ah!” Thor smiles proudly. “In Asgard, we celebrate exuberant lovemaking. But I understand that on Midgard, the customs are different.”

Tony doesn’t bother to get into it with him, just leads Thor to his private elevator. Once out on the spacious balcony, they light up and Tony laughs as Thor makes faces, gamely trying to enjoy his rare Cuban cigar.

“So I was thinking that, if you’re familiar with more than one universe, you probably know several Tony Starks, too, right?”

“Only a few. I enjoy them all, however.”

“Well, _yeah_. But let me ask you this. How many of the Stark Industries in those universes make weapons?”

Thor frowns in apparent confusion. “Just you. But not all of the Stark Industries in all the universes are like this one, or the one in Bucky and Marya’s universe. Some are quite… modest.”

Thor has to slap Tony on the back for a solid minute after his horrified gasp results in a lungful of unexpected smoke.

“ _Modest_? What does that mean?”

“Well, one of them makes toys. They are very clever, and most beloved. That Tony Stark is also Ironman, but that Stark Industries has never fully recovered after the lawsuits.”

Tony sits down hard on a nearby chaise longue, putting his head between his knees and moaning.

“And, of course, there is the one that makes office supplies. You’d be very proud. Stark is the only recognized brand of staplers in that universe. That Stark Industries is thriving, but not on the scale of yours. It was more lucrative under your father, but at that time it made sexual appliances, which-“

“It made… we made…”

“Yes, but you and Miss Potts came to an understanding in that universe. She agreed to marry that Tony Stark and allow him to remain Ironman, but only on the condition that he would manufacture something other than marital aids.”

“Wait, we’re married in that universe?”

“Oh, yes. Quite happily.”

Tony shakes his head and makes a supreme effort to return to the subject at hand. “So, I’m the only me whose SI makes weapons?”

“Yes. But take heart! Your Stark Industries has the highest earnings of all of them.”

“And in the other universes, is there terrorism like there is in this one?”

“Oh, hell, no,” Thor laughs, puffing on his cigar. “Don’t be stupid.”


	20. Home And Family

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony Stark makes a very big decision. He then figures out the switches, so that Bucky and Marya can now return to their universe. They make their first visit to the Compound where they're reunited with the Troops, Marya's family, and Bucky's, too.  
> Happy ending!  
> And an epilogue.

Tony’s pissed. He’s been in his lab all night running scenarios with Jarvis, and he’s afraid and concerned and confused and he’s just plain over it. He knows exactly what to do. He knows because, somewhere in the pre-dawn hours, he realized that he really wanted to talk to Steve Rogers. And then he realized that, since he knew exactly what Steve would tell him to do, he’s known all along what he’s going to do. 

It’s just that he doesn’t want to.

Well, no, he wants to, he just doesn’t want to. He pulls his phone from the back pocket of his jeans and realizes what time it is. He calls Pepper anyway. 

“Tony?” Her slow, sleep-thick voice asks.

“Hey, Pep. Did I wake you?”

Pepper hangs up. Tony calls her back.

“OK, I know, that was a stupid question. Sorry. It’s just… I need to talk to you. Or, rather, I need to tell you something and I need your help.”

“Oh, not again,” she sighs, and he can practically see her shaking her head and facepalming. “What did you do?” 

Tony feels like he might be entitled to be a little miffed at her attitude, really. After all, he said he needed help. For all she knows, some terrorist could be holding him hostage in a secret lair underneath a volcano right now. Why did she just assume he’d done something? If a terrorist was holding him hostage, that wouldn’t be his fault, would it? No, it wouldn’t. Probably not. Well, maybe not. At least, not necessarily. Oh, for fuck’s sake…

“Tony? Are you there?”

“Yeah, yeah, Pep, I’m here. But I need you. I don’t… Pepper, I don’t wanna make weapons anymore.”

“Oh. Oh. Well, that’s good. Isn’t it?”

“Yeah. I think it is. But I need your help, because I don’t know how to do this. Please?”

“Of course. Of course, I’ll help you. I’ll be there in an hour, and when I get there, I want you to be sound asleep, do you understand?”

“Well, if I’m sound asleep, then how will we-“

“I won’t need your help for a while. But I will, eventually, and I’ll need you coherent.”

“Yeah, but-“

“Trust me. OK?”

Tony smiles at that. “I do. I do trust you. Thor says we’re married in another universe.”

There’s a very long silence following that statement. 

“Pep?”

“Yes?”

“Well? Aren’t you going to say anything?”

“You know, normal boyfriends don’t wake their girlfriends up in the middle of the night to say things like ‘hey, honey, my multibillion-dollar empire is going to end its core business and, by the way, the god of thunder says that we’re married in another universe.’ You’d be surprised how often that doesn’t happen, Tony. So, I’m going to have to put off responding until after I’ve at least had some coffee.”

“Oh. OK. Love you.”

“I love you, too. Even at this hour. Now go to bed. I mean it.”

“Yes, dear.” 

Tony does go to bed, because he knows he’s made the right decision. The only decision. And having asked Pepper to help him make it happen means that it’s as good as done. For about the billionth time this month, Tony wonders how he got so lucky. He doesn’t deserve Pepper. He knows that. And yet, she puts up with him. For some insane reason, she actually even loves him. And God knows he loves her. He falls asleep already thinking of new directions to take the company that don’t involve making toys, office supplies, or – God help him – dildos.

  
  


**A few years later**

Bucky stands next to the truck that brought them into the Compound. He’s laughing even as fat tears fall from his eyes to roll lazily down his cheeks. She’s done it again. Dmitriy’s lying on the ground, laughing and crying, too, hugging Marya for all he’s worth despite the fact that he’s also shouting for her to let him up. When she does, Bucky sees that her forearms are scraped and bleeding and Dmitriy’s holding the back of his head. Being loved by Marya can be dangerous. 

It’s a moment no one ever thought to dream: Marya and her brother standing together, alive and well with their arms around each other, hugging again because they _can_ , and they need to. As soon as their universe’s Tony Stark figured out the switches, Bucky and Marya sent word to the Troops that they were alive and would visit the Compound as soon as they could. Now that the testing is over and means to travel between the universes stable, they will be able to visit this universe whenever they choose. But this is the first time they’ve visited the Troops and the Compound after believing, for years, that they never could.

The other Troops are crowding around, wanting to greet their former leader, their sister, miraculously alive even after she gave her life to free them. It takes the Troops a very long time to finish hugging and squealing and laughing and crying on each other. 

Of course, the Troops know Bucky, too, and they greet him just as enthusiastically. After all, he is their brother, one of them, and they’d thought he was lost to them, as well. 

Once the Troops have finished at least their initial greetings of Bucky and Marya, there is a crowd of other people to meet. Dmitriy indulges in one of the perks of leadership by insisting on being the first to introduce someone to the visitors. 

He looks to his right and an attractive man, who seems endearingly self-conscious, steps up next to him as Dmitriy lays his arm across his shoulders. It’s immediately obvious that the action is simply second nature to them. Bucky hears Marya suck in her breath. 

“I am going to introduce you to this man, Marya, but I forbid you to tackle him,” Dmitriy laughs in his deep, locally-accented Spanish.

Marya’s already smiling joyfully and reaching for the man’s hands. “You don’t have to introduce us, you fool. This is Abarran!”

The two clasp each other’s hands, but it only lasts a few seconds before Marya is throwing her arms around the man. Bucky can see he’s pleased, if a little nervous. 

“It’s so good to meet you,” he says. “Please, call me Arran.”

“Of course, Arran. I’m so happy to meet you! I know that there must be something very wrong with you to marry my brother, but he says that he is very happy, so I love you anyway.”

Arran is a few inches shorter than Dmitriy, with golden skin and light brown hair streaked by the sun. Although the sides are short, the front of his hair flops adorably into his deep brown eyes. He wears the beginnings of a beard and mustache, more than scruff but not quite fully grown in. He seems to relax as Marya puts an arm around his back to turn to Bucky.

“And this is Sergeant Barnes,” she says, the slight lowering of her voice as she says it and the way she looks at him betraying all that she feels for him.

Bucky shakes hands warmly with Arran. “Bucky,” he invites. 

Dmitriy smirks, but Arran is a Basque farmer, not one of the Troops. He was never threatened as a child with punishment by the _Zimniy Soldat_ , so he’s happy to call Bucky by that name.

“There’s someone else I want you to meet,” Dmitry says, reaching out his arms to a chubby baby chewing on his own drool-covered fist, perched on the hip of a woman standing nearby. As he does, a little girl with dark, curly hair defying the elastic meant to tame it pulls her hand out of the woman’s grasp and runs past Dmitriy to clasp her arms around Arran’s thigh. 

“Papa, I want to meet Marya and Bucky first! Before Antton!”

Arran laughs and pats the side of the little girl’s head while Marya goes to her knees, a look of astonishment on her face. 

“Marya,” Arran says, “This is our daughter, Nayara.”

Nayara lets go of Arran’s leg and takes four strides to stand, proud and brazen, before Marya. “I’m Nayara. I’m three, and you are my aunt.” 

Marya can’t speak. She’s trying, but no words will come. All she can do is look several times between Nayara and Dmitriy. Knowing her as he does, Bucky sees what she’s reacting to: Nayara is very obviously Dmitriy’s biological daughter. Bucky squats next to Marya.

“Hello, Nayara,” he says in the same serious tone the little girl used. “I’m Bucky.”

“You’re my uncle. You’re getting married.”

Bucky’s handsome face lights up with a wide, genuine smile. “That’s right.”

Marya puts out a hand to touch Nayara’s curls, softly and tentatively as though afraid she might do some damage. “You are perfect,” she tells Nayara in an awed whisper.

“Daddy says I’m like you. But why are you crying?”

“I’m not, exactly. It’s just that you’re… we are… we have the same blood.” 

Nayara’s skeptical look makes everyone laugh, even Marya. It’s enough to break the spell, at least enough for Marya to ask, “May I hug you?”

“Of course, silly,” Nayara answers, her superior attitude clearly communicating that her new aunt is going to need some educating. “That’s what you’re _supposed_ to do.” 

Arran looks to Bucky like he is about to chide his daughter, but he seems to change his mind. Probably because Marya is smiling so wistfully and hugging her so carefully.

Marya keeps her hands on the little girl’s arms as she asks, “Will you introduce me to your brother?”

“He’s just a baby,” Nayara warns.

“I know, but I would still like to meet him.”

Nayara looks at Bucky. “Do you want to meet him, too?”

“Yes, I do.”

Nayara takes one of Marya’s hands and one of Bucky’s, and leads them with great solemnity to stand in front of Dmitriy, who is holding his son. Nayara points up at the baby. “That’s Antton.”

Dmitriy changes his stance, offering Antton to Marya to hold, but she clutches her hands together in front of her chest, alarmed. “I don’t know how to hold him.”

“It’s easy,” Bucky says, taking him from Dmitriy and smiling at Marya when the baby’s settled in his arms. “They’re pretty sturdy.”

“Dmitriy,” Marya says in that hushed, reverent voice as she marvels at her nephew. “These are your children. Your true children.”

Dmitriy smiles in understanding. “Yes. Everyone here is our family, Marya. These two also share our blood. Yours and mine.”

Marya stays mildly stunned even as she and Bucky are introduced to all of the new members of the Compound. Most of the Troops have chosen spouses since being freed from Hydra. A few of the Troops have married each other, and others have married people they’ve met since founding the Compound. Most, but not all, of the spouses are Spanish. There are a few boyfriends and girlfriends, too. And there are also several children. Nayara demands that Marya carry her, which is frightening enough, but at least it lets her avoid having to hold any of the babies. Bucky has no such nervousness, however, and even tosses a few of them in the air, to their delight. The older ones, none more than five, are immediately fascinated by Bucky’s metal arm.

It’s over an hour before the group is finished greeting and introducing everyone. When someone finally suggests that they show their guests to their rooms, the big, noisy, chaotic crowd shuffles down paved walkways toward the large central building Bucky helped build so long ago. He recognizes much of the Compound, but the community has clearly been building and evolving in the years since he was here last. 

The central building is now devoted to a meeting space with a communal kitchen, offices, and other shared spaces. There’s another building, even larger, which is an ever-growing living quarters. Some of the families have built themselves small houses they call cottages, although Bucky thinks they’re a little too modern to fit the name. But most choose to live in the residence. As a rule, the Troops no longer sleep in a haphazard pile as they had when they were Hydra captives, but they still mostly prefer to live very close together. Bucky and Marya are shown to a small suite of rooms that are used on the infrequent occasions when there are guests at the Compound. 

The Compound is holding a huge, communal dinner to celebrate Bucky and Marya’s return. It’s too late in the day to show them around the Compound, and Arran has convinced Dmitriy that their guests will probably be tired from their travels and appreciate some time to rest and wash up before dinner. Bucky finds himself lying on the bed, flesh arm behind his head, studying Marya as she gazes out the second-story window at the fields on the edge of the neat complex. It’s almost a tiny town now, larger and more populated than the Avengers Compound in upstate New York. 

“You okay?” Bucky asks gently.

Marya hums in response, still taking in the view. “Overwhelmed, I think.”

“Yeah. Me, too.”

There’s another silence while Bucky watches Marya’s thoughtful expression. “They have children,” she muses.

_Yeah. That’s what Bucky thought._

“I know. Our Bruce thought we probably could, that’s why our supplements have contraceptives in them.”

“Yes. It always seemed sort of… academic to me, though. Like a theory. I don’t think I believed it.”

Bucky sits up and moves to the edge of the bed closest to Marya. “We could have kids if you wanted to.”

Marya looks at him then, her face a weathervane, changing with her swirling emotions. “Do you?”

“Yes.” This seems to Bucky like a situation that calls for the clearest possible communication.

“Yes.” Marya echoes him, her tone a request for confirmation at the same time she’s trying out the idea. 

“Yes. You’re all the family I need, Marya, but I’d like having kids, if you want that.”

“Are you afraid?”

Bucky thinks about that, wanting to be sure he understands what she’s asking. “I know it’s hard, raising kids, if that’s what you mean.”

“I mean, are you afraid they’ll be monsters? Like us?”

“No, Marya. We weren’t born like this. We were made into this. And we aren’t monsters. You taught me that.”

Marya comes to sit next to Bucky as she says, “I just never thought about being a child’s mother before. It makes me look at us differently.”

“There’s no reason to make a decision right now,” Bucky tells her, taking her hand in his and kissing it before resting their entwined hands on his thigh. “Spend time with the kids here. Watch the Troops with them. Take your time.”

“You are a wonderful man,” Marya says, and the look on her face is as adoring as her words.

“Then let’s put this time to good use and try out this bed.”

Dinner is a chaotic, boisterous affair that reminds Marya of the times when Hydra would toss food into the Troops’ sleeping room as though feeding animals in a zoo. Hydra had never understood that this wasn’t demeaning the way they’d intended; it was the Troops’ preferred way of being fed. The Troops ensured that everyone got their share, regardless of how little Hydra sometimes gave them if they were being punished for something, and then they ate together in relaxed camaraderie. It was nothing like eating in the stifling presence of Hydra personnel, or under the resentful supervision of guards. Having been abducted as children and subjected to destruction of most of their memories, that was the life they knew, so they found enjoyment where they could.

During dinner, many of the members of the Compound tell stories of its founding and the work they’ve done in the years since then. There are some poignant stories, and some tales of missions on which the Troops have helped the Avengers. But Bucky’s stomach hurts from laughter by the end of the meal. He and Marya tell the group about destroying the Ten Rings, and about the new peace descending on their world now that Stark Industries no longer makes weapons. They have their own funny stories about some of the product lines their Tony Stark has experimented with.

After dinner, they relax around a bonfire that’s been lit in a large firepit in front of the central building. Although they haven’t lived in yurts for years, they’ve kept the tradition of sitting together around campfires whenever the weather allows it.

The fire lends a warm, comfortable light to the gathering. Marya and Dmitriy stay next to each other all evening, often with one or both arms around each other, as Marya becomes reacquainted with the people with whom she was raised, who have always called themselves siblings. Nayara sits on Marya’s lap for quite a while, before getting bored with adults talking and seeking out Bucky, who seems likely to be more fun. 

Dmitri eventually convinces Marya to hold Antton. Looking at the sleepy baby sitting on her thighs, regarding her thoughtfully, Marya suddenly makes the connection. She raises her head to meet her brother’s eyes. “Nayara and Antton. Natasha and Tony.”

“Yes,” Dmitriy nods solemnly. “They are as much a part of this Compound as any of us. Arran met them, and we wanted to honor their memories.”

“That is…” Marya impatiently wipes a tear from her cheek. “I have wanted to see you, and all our siblings, since the day I had to leave. And now that we’re here, all I can do is cry!”

Dmitriy laughs and squeezes her with the arm he has resting on her shoulder. “Well, you did blow yourself up for us, so I guess I’ll forgive you. Just don’t get tears on my son. Anyway, we should start talking about your wedding. People have already made a lot of plans without you.”

“That’s okay. As long as I end up married to my Sergeant, here with you all, they can do it however they like.”

“I’m glad you are so happy, Marya. I love the Sergeant, too.”

Marya turns a glare on him. “Yes, he mentioned that you two…”

“Am I supposed to ignore a man that beautiful? Anyway, you were dead.”

“That was his excuse!”

“Don’t worry about it. It was nothing.” Dmitriy’s smile fades then, and he grows serious as he says, “He was a broken man then. I was not surprised when he sent me the message that he was going to try to follow you to the other universe.”

“You are the only one he told.”

“I didn’t know what to say when Dr. Banner asked me if I knew where he was. I told him as much of the truth as I could, that he had sent me a message saying he was leaving. But I refused to tell him what the message said. I was honest that I didn’t know whether he was still alive, and I told him that, either way, we would never see the Sergeant again.”

“So much pain,” Marya sighs, bouncing baby Antton on her knee to make him smile.

Dmitriy shakes his head. “That is over now. You and the Sergeant are both alive, and he is so happy, Marya. He is… whole. You did that.”

“Many people did that, including you, Dmitriy. And he healed me as much as I healed him.”

“Whatever. More maudlin talk! Drink some more of our wine and dry your eyes, you fool. You cry more than Antton.”

  


That night, Bucky and Marya learn that the Troops have not entirely abandoned their former habit of sleeping together in a pile. When their Hydra captors had allowed them nowhere better to sleep than a single room with a mat on the floor, they didn’t have sex in the place where they slept. As a result, sleeping together was not sexual for them in the bunker, so it isn’t in the Compound, either. In the Compound, it's usual to issue an invitation to sleep together when someone needs comfort. They all bear the scars of their trauma, if only internally, just as Bucky and Marya do. Nightmares are common. 

So it really isn’t that surprising that the Troops have incorporated sleeping together into their celebrations, as well. There is even a communal sleeping room in the central building, with a massive, fluffy floor covering and a wide array of brightly-colored pillows and blankets, kept scrupulously clean. When people get tired around the bonfire, most drift into the central building to curl up together for the night. It's a way of keeping the celebration going, of not having to end it just because they need sleep, and to reaffirm the close ties between the Troops and all the members of the Compound. 

Bucky finds it strange, but his experience in the Army comes in handy once again as he taps into that part of himself that has learned to sleep anywhere. It's kind of nice, he realizes. He feels safe and he does sort of feel a sense of camaraderie, even in sleep. And Marya sleeps soundly with a faint smile on her lips, letting out a sleepy, satisfied sigh as Bucky pulls her more tightly to his chest.

Bucky is home with his family. And when they return to their new universe, he will be home there, too, with the rest of his family. 

**~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ The End ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~**

**Epilogue:**

The Avengers contacted Steve Rogers once – only once – after he returned to his own time. When Bucky had gone missing, Bruce Banner called to ask whether he could meet with Steve, and Steve reluctantly agreed. When he arrived, Bruce explained that Bucky had disappeared without taking anything with him, and the Avengers were worried. He asked whether Bucky had contacted Steve, or whether Steve knew where he might have gone. 

Of course, Bucky hadn’t contacted Steve, and Steve had no idea where he might have gone. But Steve didn’t understand the concern. Bucky Barnes, of all people, could take care of himself. Couldn’t he? Was he all right? Steve, in his stupid, self-destructive earnestness, had never learned to trust someone when they told him he didn’t want to know the answer to a question. So he pushed Bruce to tell him the truth. That’s how Steve learned, in excruciatingly painful fucking detail, what Bucky had become after he left. Bruce hadn’t understood Steve’s decision any more than Bucky had and, God help him, it had felt kind of good to blast Steve back a little for what he’d done.

Oh, the lies Steve told himself after that! Selfish, cowardly, willfully blind fuck that he is, even after Bruce informed him in no uncertain terms that he’d all but destroyed Bucky, Steve told himself that the Avengers were overreacting. Bucky wasn’t “missing”. He was fine. He’d simply had enough of life with the Avengers and had used his considerable skills to vanish into a quiet, peaceful life off the grid. 

And then, this morning, Steve had opened his front door to see Tony Stark, looking just like he did the day he died, standing on his front porch. Steve had gasped, his chest tightening like it hadn’t even when he was a ninety-pound asthmatic. Tony had skipped a beat, having to squint a little to be sure this old man was really Steve. But then he’d broken into that impish grin and opened his arms, like he’d be welcome.

He wasn’t. 

Even when he explained that he wasn’t the Tony Stark from this universe, Steve hadn’t wanted to see him. It hurt like a motherfucker to see Tony again after all these years. Especially this Tony. Steve’s Tony hadn’t been this carefree, this light, since the Snap. Maybe ever. Seeing him now just reminded Steve of all that the Snap, and what came after, had cost. He doesn’t want to remember that. It’s part of why he returned to his time.

Steve resents this Tony Stark even more for the rest of what he told Steve. About Bucky. About what really happened when Bucky disappeared, several years ago now. And where Bucky went. Steve had actually tried to get Tony to leave without telling him anything about his universe, but apparently any Tony Stark is unstoppable and no universe has yet devised the means to shut him the hell up. 

Tony-from-another-universe explained, in self-congratulatory tones, how he’d figured out universe-hopping fairly quickly, once he began. He admitted that most of the work had been done by Tony-from-Steve’s-universe, and all he’d had to do was reverse-engineer his switches and make some ingenious – Tony’s word - guesses. The switches no longer dumped people into the other universe burned and broken, which Tony made sure Steve understood was all him. 

Steve, curse his still-too-polite ass, just had to ask what switches Tony was talking about. Up to then, Steve had still been under the impression that Tony was here alone, because he hadn’t mentioned anyone else. But Steve should have known.

It’s a beautiful, late-spring afternoon in Brooklyn, and Steve is walking, face tipped up toward the sun, soaking in the warmth. Since the day he woke up after being rescued from the ice, he’s always felt like there’s a part of him, deep inside, that’s never really thawed. Everyone’s always thought he ran and worked out to keep in shape, which is partly true. But revving his body up to its maximum is also the closest he’s ever been able to get to feeling truly warm. Peggy always used to get this look on her face when he’d wrap up in an electric blanket or sit too close to a fire, like she knew, even though he never told her about crashing the Valkyrie into the ice. For her, it hadn’t happened. And Steve didn’t want to talk about what he’d done, or why he’d done it. Not when, even though he’d gotten Bucky back, he’d still walked away from him in the end.

The warmth of the sun is not the only reason Steve is blinking and looking up. He’s also trying to hold back tears. He promised himself on the day he returned to his time that he would never regret his decision, and he doesn’t. Not really. He’s caught up to himself now, to the time when he’d awakened in “the future,” but it’s different this time. It’s so very different. He fits now. He’s the right age now. And this time, he has a lifetime of memories of Peggy and the family they made. 

Peggy’s been gone for a few years now, although it still feels fresh. Her death is a wound that isn’t going to heal, and Steve accepts that. It was still worth it. Steve himself is biologically over a hundred years old now. He’s not immortal, of course, but the serum has given him a much longer lifespan than a normal man. And although he’s aged, he’s still in perfect health. At a hundred and change, Steve’s a hell of a lot healthier than he was at twenty. That still makes him laugh a little, but it also means he’s going to be living with the pain of Peggy’s death for quite a while yet. 

That isn’t what has the tears threatening, though. He would give in to them, if that was the case, like he has a million times since losing Peggy. He doesn’t mind. The pain of missing her keeps Peggy close to him, somehow. 

If anyone was paying any attention to the surprisingly fit old man on his daily walk right now, they’d see a look that’s half smile, half grimace cross his face. Steve’s thinking about how Bucky would react if he ever heard him say that.

And it’s Bucky’s memory, not Peggy’s, that has him choked up. 

Steve’s not sure it’s accurate to say that it’s Bucky’s _memory_ , exactly, that’s tearing him apart right now. Because the pictures aren’t from the past. They’re from the present. For Bucky, it’s only been a few years since he and Steve saw each other. It’s Steve who’s been grieving the loss of Bucky for the past eighty years. 

Steve looks around him at the sunny street where he’s walking. Had he known it, he is very near the place where Bucky was abducted by the Troops all those years ago. He sighs, yet again, realizing that Tony might never have told him the things he had this morning if Steve hadn’t asked Tony what fucking switches he’d been talking about. But he did. And that’s when Tony told him that Marya hadn’t died in the explosion of the Hydra bunker. For a second, just a split second, that had been good news. But, of course, Tony had immediately explained that she’d landed in an alternate universe – this Tony’s universe – and that Bucky hadn’t “disappeared.” Bucky had followed her there. 

Steve knew immediately, as soon as the words were out of Tony’s mouth. Didn’t even have to think about it. He’s not stupid, and he knows how Bucky Barnes’s mind and heart work. So Steve knows why Bucky flipped the switch, even though it was likely to kill him. Steve knows that switch was Bucky’s Valkyrie. Maybe flipping it hadn’t been quite so guaranteed to be fatal as crashing a plane into the ice at speed, but it was pretty close. It was Bucky’s way of escaping a world without Steve, just as the Valkyrie had been Steve’s way of escaping a world without Bucky. 

Which tells Steve all he’ll ever need to know about what his leaving did to Bucky.

A whole lot of carefully-constructed fantasies crumble in the face of that knowledge. All the lies Steve has told himself since Bruce had visited him go up in flames like the tissue paper they were always made of. He burns with self-hatred now for how eagerly he’d embraced such a convenient, comfortable story. Bucky hadn’t happily retired to a rustic little cabin in the woods to live on memories and his love for Steve. Far from it. What he’d driven Bucky to was nowhere near that simple, or that starkly noble. And it sure the fuck wasn’t that complimentary to Steve. 

Bucky had floundered, desperately clawing for some kind of peace and utterly unable to find it. He’d lasted longer than Steve had, but in the end, he’d ended up in the same place Steve did after Bucky fell to his death from a train. And he’d found it just as unsurvivable as Steve had. 

Oh, yeah, Steve understood. Who better? The difference was, Bucky would never intentionally have caused Steve that kind of pain. Bucky had tried desperately not to fall. He’d done everything he could not to be separated. But Steve? Steve had done it consciously, and with malice aforethought. Even knowing what it felt like, Steve had left Bucky clinging for his life and crying all alone in the freezing wind as he watched Steve disappear from his life. 

No wonder Bucky had taken an insane, suicidal risk on one of Tony Stark’s mad inventions on the off chance that he would find peace on the other side. And he had. Marya had been waiting for him there, arms wide open, still completely loyal and able to be everything Bucky needed.

Tony kept talking. Steve didn’t listen. He thought he hadn’t heard a word, but he knows now that he did, because he knows that Bucky is here, in this universe and in this time. He knows that, instead of coming with Tony to find Steve, Bucky’s gone with Marya to Spain. And he knows that they’re going to be married there.

Steve knows why he’s upset about that. He’s under no illusion about his own motives. He wants Bucky to be happy; of course he wants that. He’s supposed to want Bucky to get over him. And yet, the idea that Bucky actually _is_ over him hurts so bad he could howl with the unspeakable pain of it. Steve wants to kill Marya. As he walks, his hands curl into fists shaking with hurt rage as he thinks about her waiting for Bucky, faithful and patient and oh-so-ready to welcome him back into her arms once Steve chose peace of mind and Peggy over him.

Steve is well aware that there’s nothing to be angry with Marya _about_ , because he himself is the one who abandoned Bucky, who robbed him of any choice and then stranded him in hell. If he was any kind of friend, any kind of fucking _man_ , he’d be overflowing with gratitude to Marya for making Bucky happy again. Intellectually, he knows that. But, oh, the craving and jealousy burn like nothing he’s ever experienced. Not even Peggy’s death, because Steve believes he’ll be reunited with Peggy someday. But he also knows he’s lost Bucky forever. 

Steve’s almost stomping his feet now as he strides up the avenue, trying to rid himself of the staggering avalanche of grief and rage and screaming agony he feels. He’s gripping his phone so hard he’s likely to crush it. He doesn’t fool himself about that, either. This morning, Tony went on and on about Bucky’s new life until Steve finally had to beg him to stop. Tony eventually relented, but still insisted on uploading some pictures onto Steve’s phone. Steve doesn’t want to see them. At the same time, he wants to see them so bad it’s killing him, even though he knows that his suffering now is nothing to what it will do to him to see pictures of Bucky, finally at home and content in a way he’s never been in this universe. At home and content without Steve.

Steve does, eventually, look at the pictures. He’d just needed to be in the right place when he did it. The right place is the small back yard of his house. It’s his favorite place in the world, especially when the sun is pouring its warmth on him and he can smell the lilac bush Peggy loved so much. He feels her here. They made years and years of memories here in this yard, together and with their children, and Steve still often has dinner on the picnic table with their kids and grandkids when they visit. This yard is the safest place he knows. 

The pictures break his heart anyway. Bucky is young and gorgeous and blissfully in love. The shadows of the Winter Soldier are all but gone from his eyes. If anything, he looks younger than he did the last time Steve saw him. Steve knows that’s Marya’s doing. Steve could never help Bucky heal the way that Marya can, because he hasn’t lived what they have. Steve hates her just a little bit more for that, and hates himself for it. 

There is a picture of all the members of the Avengers Initiative, bruised and bloody after some battle or other, all smiling and laughing as though they’re having the time of their lives. There are two James Barneses, and Steve takes in the sight of the other one – that universe’s Barnes – wearing the uniform and bearing the shield of Captain America. For the first time, Steve really lets himself think about the fact that Bucky is happy in a universe where Steve himself is dead.

There’s another picture of Bucky in front of a brick townhouse in what has to be Brooklyn in Bucky’s universe. He’s roughhousing with two little boys who could be him and Steve at their ages, while Marya laughs from where she’s sitting on the stoop. Steve thinks that might be Bucky and Marya’s home. He doesn’t know who the boys are, and he’s glad he doesn’t. 

The last picture is a close-up of Bucky and Marya, smiling with their faces close together. It looks like one Bucky took himself. Steve can only look at that picture for long enough to be struck anew by the power Bucky’s stunning good looks have always had over him. He imagines for just a split second that Bucky’s looking at him with those lovely, gray-blue eyes, and smiling at him like that. He has to hit the button to close the picture before the blast of desperate longing stops his heart.

_So there is justice in this world, sometimes_ , Steve thinks. Bucky has a full life, with people who have been gone from Steve’s world for a lifetime now. And being forced to see Bucky, happy without him, Steve’s getting what he deserves for not having the courage to stay. Steve’s not even trying to stem the tears, or hold in his sobs. He thinks if he tried to hold it in, this torment would kill him.

After he looks at each picture, Steve deletes it, until he’s looking at a blank screen. He had his life with Peggy, and it was very, very good. He’ll find his way to appreciate, even celebrate, Bucky finding his own happiness with Marya. But he never wants to see those pictures again.

“Forgive me, Buck…” Steve pleads in a choked whisper. “I should have been stronger. Be happy, pal. I’ve loved you every minute since the day we met. I’ll love you forever.”


	21. A New Addition To The Collection

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thor shows up in the dead of night with a badly beaten patient from another universe. The entire team is rocked to the core when they learn that it's Steve Rogers, who's been betrayed and nearly murdered by the Avengers. Bucky isn't ready to see him. Barnes doesn't want to, either, but as Captain America, he thinks it's his duty. Besides, it's going to be a mindfuck to see another version of his dead husband, no matter how much time passes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aaaaaaaaaaaaaand, once again, I can't let go of this universe. (I mean, there's two Buckys. Come on.)  
> I don't know where the idea of throwing Steve Rogers back into the mix came from, but from the moment I had it, it hasn't let go of me.

In any universe, the Avengers are a mess. They’ve been through too much for it to be otherwise. They all have rough nights sometimes; the only saving grace is that they usually don’t have them at the same time. 

Tonight it’s Barnes’s turn. It’s been a year since he killed The Mandarin, which means it’s been two since The Mandarin killed Steve. Barnes thinks it’s probably about fucking time for the nightmares to end, but here he is again, standing in the dark, staring out the windows of the common room in Stark Tower at three a.m. 

Nightmares are nothing new for Barnes, but this one had been particularly brutal. He tries to stop the flashes of the dream that keep returning. He really doesn’t need to see, again, the arboretum where he and Steve had been married splashed with blood, or Steve’s ravaged body lying dead in his arms. It hadn’t really happened that way, of course, but that’s piss-poor consolation right this minute. The dream’s still way too fucking real.

Barnes is glad no one’s up to see him trembling. Only part of that is due to the cool of the room and the fact that he didn’t bother toweling the sweat from his skin before trudging from his bedroom to prowl the dark residential floors of the Tower. 

He leans his forehead against the glass, absently watching the fog made by his breath. He’s better able to bear his grief now, two years later. He feels like he can breathe again, a little. Most days, he can stand the thought of continuing to put one foot in front of the other through the rest of his life without his best friend, the love of his life, his other half. He’s satisfied with having killed The Mandarin, even though that act, itself, hadn’t helped much. He hadn’t expected it to. It was just something he had to do. 

As he stands there, he sees a flash streaking fast and complicated across the night sky, and then hears the telltale deep, resonating boom of thunder that heralds Thor’s arrival even before the intruder alarm begins to shriek. The blinking amber emergency lights hurt Barnes’s grainy, sleep-deprived eyes and he swears expressively.

He hears noises, dim even to his supersoldier hearing because they’re on the floor above. He knows the others are hurriedly throwing themselves out of bed, grabbing weapons to meet the threat, whatever it is this time. Toggling the switch nearest him, he speaks into the intercom mic.

“Stand down, everybody. It’s just Thor.”

Most of the noises stop, but he thinks he can hear Tony’s voice speaking through the intercom to someone’s apartment. He hopes it isn’t his. He’s not in the mood to deal with anything right now. Since Thor has obviously landed on the landing pad outside Tony’s penthouse, he’ll let Tony deal with Thor, if he wants something.

Barnes decides to go back to his apartment. Maybe take a quick shower and try to get some more sleep. Hopefully without dreams. 

* * *

Bucky is moaning theatrically from under his pillow. 

“I don’t know what you’re complaining about, it is me who has to get up,” Marya tells him with a grin. 

“We're comfortable. You're all warm and naked and stuff.”

“Hopefully, this won’t take long. I will come back and be all warm and naked and stuff again.”

“I want that _now_ ,” he whines, trying to keep her from getting out of bed.

“I do, too, Sergeant. I will try to hurry back.” She pulls the pillow away to kiss him quickly, then covers his face with it again.

Ten minutes later, Marya steps off the elevator on the medical floor. She hears the noise of activity in the trauma room to her left, so she heads in that direction. 

Bruce is there already, working on someone in one of the trauma bays while Thor and Tony Stark stand on the other side of the bed. They’re watching Bruce work with a rapt attention that piques Marya’s curiosity. She strides over, ready to assist Bruce with whatever this person needs.

As Bruce looks up at her, she notes that he’s wearing a strange expression. There’s the usual professional concern, but it’s overlaid with something else. Bruce looks… haunted. She looks down and, seeing the patient’s face, she suddenly understands why. She gasps. 

The patient is Steve Rogers.

“Get a couple IV lines going, would you, Marya? Run LR wide open through one of them and D5 TKO through the other for meds. Crack the trauma cart and get it in here, too.”

“Yes, sir. Mr. Stark, pull that big red cart over here, please,” she says over her shoulder to Tony as she crosses the room, already moving with a purpose. She has about a million questions, but they’re going to have to wait. She can see from the pale dullness of his skin that this Steve Rogers, wherever he came from, is in trouble.

Ten minutes later, Bruce has completed his scans and Marya has the IVs running. She’s given the patient a large dose of the exceptionally strong narcotic cocktail Bruce formulated for wounded supersoldiers, whose metabolism and cellular regeneration rate make pain control extremely challenging. He’s been unconscious since Thor brought him to the tower, but his grimaces and moans had clearly indicated he’d been in pain. He’s quiet now, and the lines in his face have softened. 

He came in wearing the uniform of Captain America, which Bruce and Marya have now cut off him as they’ve assessed his wounds. His most pressing medical issue is intracranial bleeding, which isn’t surprising given the serious skull fracture underlying a deep, complex laceration of his scalp. At the moment, Bruce is having to walk a tightrope between giving medications to decrease his patient’s intracranial pressure and keeping his blood pressure stable. He’s especially grateful to have Jarvis’s assistance, and all of the information provided by the monitors. Although he knows that this Steve Rogers is enhanced just like the Steve Rogers from Bruce’s universe, he’s still worried. Even a supersoldier can die from injuries as severe as those this man has sustained.

In addition to the head wound, they’ve pulled three arrows from him – two from his chest and one from his left arm. He also has several broken ribs, a dislocated shoulder, and no fewer than eight gunshot wounds. All that is accompanied by soft tissue injuries that speak to countless blunt force impacts, most likely from fists and feet. 

Jarvis is currently calculating the best options for treatment. Captain America will heal as long as they keep him alive long enough, but Bruce has never been willing to simply leave a supersoldier to the mercy of their serum. Bruce just hopes they won’t have to operate, because getting and keeping a supersoldier under anesthesia is nearly impossible. In any event, it won’t be him and Marya performing any surgery; Stark Industries has a full medical team replete with specialists, who are on their way. Bruce and Marya are treating the patient now only because they live in the Tower.

“What the hell happened to him?” Bruce asks Thor. 

“As I told you, he was ambushed and attacked by his Avengers. It is only by good fortune that Heimdall saw what was occurring. We know his universe and have been watching it, but their Hydra has proved particularly cunning. We did not know how completely they had overcome his Avengers until they did this cursed thing. I am afraid Asgard cannot save the Midgard of his universe, but he is a good man. He sought our assistance to try to save his planet when he feared his team had succumbed to Hydra’s influence. 

“Tonight, when I arrived with the Warriors Three, he was engaged in singlehanded battle against all the rest of his Avengers. He was still fighting, but gravely wounded already. His Iron Man dealt him a massive blow to the head just as we reached him. We rescued him from them and I brought him here.” 

Marya is muttering in Norwegian as she works to clean Captain America’s head wound. She’s using the word “Hydra” frequently, and the tone of her voice leaves no doubt that what she’s saying is far from complimentary. 

“He gonna need stitches?” Bruce asks.

“Yes, and staples, too, I think. This wound is down to the bone and you can see how big it is. This is not from just a blow.”

“No,” Thor agrees. “Black Widow had knives.”

“ _For en jævla drittsekk_!” Marya spits.

Thor nods solemnly. “A fucking shitbag indeed.”

“ _Fy faen!_ I do not know who I hate more, Hydra or those _jævlig forræderisk_ Avengers.”

For the next hour, Bruce and Marya work on cleaning, stitching, and dressing their patient’s wounds. Jarvis tracks the monitor readings. Occasionally, he advises some medication or calls their attention to something, so that by the time the trauma surgeon and his team arrive, Steve Rogers is stable and no longer bleeding anywhere, at least externally. 

“Took your fucking time, I see,” Bruce snarls at the surgeon, Dr. Fabian. “Hair looks great. Glad you took the time to fucking blow dry it. Don’t want Cap to wake up to a disheveled doctor.”

The greeting upsets Dr. Fabian for two reasons. First, he’s been in constant contact with Jarvis the entire time, and there was nothing he could’ve done that Banner hasn’t. Second, Banner is never nasty. The fact that he’s nasty right now means there’s a good chance of green and violent in his near future.

And then it hits him. “Cap? As in…” Fabian notices the patient’s face for the first time. “Oh, my—”

“He is not your Steve Rogers,” Thor assures him. “He is from another universe.”

“Lotta that goin’ around,” Fabian mutters, already beginning a detailed examination of the patient’s head wound. He looks up briefly. “Go back to bed, all of you. We’ve got it from here.”

Bruce wants nothing more than to strike out at him with some biting comment, but he knows that anger is entirely misplaced. It’s not Fabian he’s pissed at. It’s those fucking turncoat Avengers. He’s already asking Thor what he’s going to do about them as they head into the glass-walled conference room adjacent to the treatment room, where there’s fresh coffee.

Marya and Tony follow. Thor and Tony will drink coffee anytime, but Marya’s hoping to be able to crawl back into bed with Bucky for another few hours of sleep. Bruce, who never drinks coffee, knows that right now would be a very bad time to start. 

“He’s going to live,” Bruce says. “But he’s in for a rough couple of days.”

“Maybe longer than that,” Marya says darkly.

“What does that mean?” Tony asks. 

“He is going to be devastated that his Avengers betrayed him. And I’m not sure he’s going to like the welcome he’s going to get here, either.”

“What are you saying?” Thor’s voice is suddenly louder and carries a bite of suspicion.

Marya isn’t intimidated, although he could easily crush her with his bare hands, supersoldier or not. She sighs and turns toward him. “We have two James Barneses. I know that mine is not going to be pleased to see Steve Rogers. I’m less sure how Captain Barnes will feel, but I know that it will at least be difficult for him to see a living, breathing copy of the husband he lost.”

Tony groans. “I didn’t even think of that, but you’re right. Not to mention that Barnes is our Captain America. Not sure how he’ll feel about having another one of those, either.” 

Tony turns to Thor. “How well do you know this guy? Any idea what he’s going to want to do?”

“I have come to know him well, and I do not think that he will want to go back to his universe. He said that seeing those he loves become that which they have always fought against was worse than if they had died. In fact—”

Thor stops speaking and looks through the glass wall toward where Steve Rogers is lying on a gurney, surrounded by medical personnel and machines.

“What?” Tony prods.

“Captain Rogers could have avoided being hurt as badly as he was. But to do so, he would have had to maim or kill some of his teammates. He was defending himself to the best of his ability, but I believe he was resigned to death at their hands, because he refused to harm his friends. And I believe that he preferred death to seeing them become Hydra.”

Bruce swears softly and yawns again. “Poor guy. For now, let’s just get him through the night. What happens after that can wait until after we’ve gotten some sleep.”

“Spoiler alert,” Tony spits. “I’m gonna want it to involve some pretty fucking devastating payback. Avengers don’t betray Avengers.”

They all agree, and quickly disperse to their separate living quarters. Marya is glad that, when she rejoins him in their bed, Bucky only stirs briefly and doesn’t ask any questions beyond whether everything is all right. When she answers that everything is fine, he simply pulls her close and quickly falls back asleep.

* * *

“I appreciate everything you’ve done,” Steve Rogers is saying from his bed on the medical floor. His voice is stronger than it was when he’d initially awakened, but it’s still all wrong. Captain America should never sound so hopeless. So defeated.

“It’s an honor, Cap,” Tony responds, with a sincerity he rarely displays. “We respect the shield, and Thor’s told us what you’ve been through.”

Steve grimaces and hangs his head, sighing heavily before looking up again at a sound from the doorway.

Marya stands there with a small, welcoming smile overlaid on her obvious concern for his injuries. “Good morning, Captain Rogers.”

Neither she nor Tony is prepared for his reaction. He startles and whips an arm out from his side, quite clearly reaching for his shield.

“Hey, hey,” Tony soothes, putting a restraining hand on Steve’s shoulder. “It’s okay. She’s with us. This is Marya.”

Steve’s expression of hatred is not softened by Tony’s words. “I know who that is. She’s Hydra. You’re compromised,” he tells Tony as he sits up painfully, preparing to fight even in his battered condition.

“Yes, Captain, I was Hydra,” Marya confirms softly and calmly. “They captured me and a group of other children and raised us to be an army of supersoldiers. I assume that happened in your universe, as well. We did not choose to be what we were, and in my universe, you helped the Avengers rescue us. I am part of the Avengers Initiative in this universe now. I will die to protect you or any of my teammates.”

Not how Tony would have addressed the issue, but he can see that Marya’s directness has at least captured Steve’s attention.

“What do you mean, ‘your universe’ and ‘this universe’? Are you saying you’re not from here?”

“That is correct. And you should know there is no Hydra in this universe.”

“Then what— How are you here? Did Thor bring you here?”

“It is a very long story, which I will tell you. Now, if you like. I will tell you whatever you want to know.”

“That’s actually why I asked her to come here this morning,” Tony interjects. “I thought someone else who came here from another universe might have a better sense of what you’re feeling right now. There’s a newer arrival from Marya’s universe but… that’s a little more of a complication than we need to get into for the moment.”

Steve’s still tensed for action, and the monitors show that his breathing and heart rate are still elevated. The toll this anxiety is taking on his body is obvious in everything about him.

Tony leans forward and again puts a hand on Steve’s shoulder. “Stand down, Cap. It’s okay. As leader of the Avengers Initiative, you have my guarantee that you’re safe here.”

All Tony gets for that is a glare.

“Okay, I get why you don’t trust us right now, but trust Thor. He brought you here. Do you really think he’d bring you to us if there was any chance we’d hurt you? Marya is not Hydra. There is no Hydra here. You’re safe.”

“I will stay over here, if you like,” Marya offers. “I will not come any closer.”

Steve lays back against his pillow, but the wary expression doesn’t leave his bruised and lacerated face. “I’m a little short on trust at the moment.”

“Can’t say I blame you there,” Tony growls. “I’d like to get my hands on your Avengers myself.”

There’s a silence broken only by Marya’s softly-hissed Norwegian curse before Steve, eyes closed against his pain, murmurs, “Fine. What do you want to know?”

“We’re not here to question you, Cap. We’re here to answer your questions. Find out what you need from us. Help you if we can. Offer you a place to live if you want.” Tony chuckles a little. “We appear to be starting a collection of broken supersoldiers from other universes.”

“What does that mean?” Steve asks without much curiosity. Now that he’s decided not to try to fight, he’s feeling the exhaustion just from his reaction to seeing Marya, the Fist of Hydra herself, walk into his hospital room.

Steve sees Tony and Marya exchange a glance, and apparently Tony gives her some sort of signal, because she answers softly, “He means Sergeant Barnes and me.”

“Sergeant— Bucky? Bucky Barnes?” Steve is instantly sitting as upright as he had been a moment before, eyes wide with shock and something else.

“Yes. That is the complication Mr. Stark spoke of earlier. Well, one of them. But let’s start there.”

“How is he here? Bucky Barnes died in 1944. He fell from a train into a chasm a thousand feet deep.”

Marya starts to answer, but Tony gets there first. "The universes are parallel, but not identical, Cap. And maybe we should save the heavy stuff for when you're feeling better."

Marya looks a question at Tony, whose face says _and that's an order_ as loud as words. She remains silent.

Steve's instantly anxious and impatient. “I want to see him. I mean, sorry, that sounded like an order. I meant, uh, _can_ I meet him?”

Marya looks to Tony, who frowns and shakes his head slightly. 

“You will,” Tony answers, “But I don’t think you want to do that just yet. You’re pretty beat up. Let’s give the reunion a couple days, huh?”

“Please,” Steve pleads. “You can’t know what Bucky was to me. If he’s alive in this universe, and here in this building… Please.”

Now it’s Tony’s turn to look to Marya for help.

“I will talk to them, sir,” she tells Tony. “They’ll have to meet at some point, but it should be their choice.”

Steve looks up at her, still clearly deeply distrustful of her, but also confused by her wording. He looks to Tony. “They? Who is ‘they’?” 

“It’s complicated, Cap. Let us talk to, um, Bucky. Prepare him to meet you. I’ll let you know as soon as I can when you can expect to meet. Sorry. It’s the best I can do.”

Steve clearly wants to argue, but at that moment, the doctor pokes his head into the doorway next to where Marya is standing.

“Mr. Stark, Marya, I’m going to have to ask you to wrap this up. Captain Rogers’ vital signs are a little concerning, and I think he’s had enough for one morning. He needs to rest now.”

“I’m all right, Doctor. And I still have questions—”

The doctor smiles kindly as he cuts him off. “Captain, you appear to forget that we had our own Steve Rogers in this universe. I fully expected you to say that, and I do not expect you to follow my instructions. I do, however, expect _them_ to.”

With meaningful nods at both Tony and Marya, the doctor disappears from the doorway.

“I pay that guy’s salary. He oughtta have a little respect,” Tony grouses, but he’s already getting up from his chair next to Steve’s bed. 

When he gets to the door, Tony turns around again. “Do you want me to ask Thor to come down and see you? You’re perfectly safe here, but after everything—”

“No,” Steve sighs, burrowing down into the hospital bed. “Thank you, but I guess I’m as safe here as I am anywhere. Safer than in the Avengers Tower in my own universe.” He gives a weak, bitter laugh. “Just, please, let me see Bucky as soon as he’s willing to see me.”

“You got it,” Tony assures him, and leaves him alone, hopefully to rest and heal from his many injuries.

* * *

Barnes is silent, staring blankly at the nearly-empty coffee cup he’s turning around and around in his hands, while Bucky paces in front of the Common Room windows. Tony sits awkwardly on the edge of a side table, bouncing a knee and watching them both intently. Marya is entirely composed, sitting patiently on the ottoman in front of the chair in which Barnes is contemplating his coffee.

It’s been just over an hour since Tony and Marya left Steve Rogers’s hospital room, and about ten minutes since they told Barnes and Bucky who Thor brought to the tower during the night. 

“We’re not his Bucky. Neither one of us,” Bucky gripes. “We’re not interchangeable. His is dead. I don’t want him thinkin’ he’s found some kinda substitute. And Barnes isn’t even the same guy. He and his Steve weren’t born until almost fifty years after the war. They were never frozen, never fought Hydra. I think we oughtta tell this guy to get stuffed.”

“You can do that,” Tony answers. “I think he means well, though. He just misses his best friend.”

“His best friend’s dead.”

“They guy’s been through hell, Bucky. I get not wanting to see him, after what your Steve did to you, but remember: just like you’re not his Bucky, he’s not your Steve. He’s just looking for a little comfort after the people he thought were his family turned on him. They’d have killed him. They almost did.”

“I get that. I’m not trying to be a jerk here. I just— I’m gonna need some time to get used to the idea of having Steve around again. Well, not Steve, but… _a_ Steve.” He shakes his head and twists his lips in a grimace, muttering, “Man, this multiverse shit is fucked up.”

“That is reasonable,” Marya tells Bucky. “I don’t think it is such a great idea for him to go through the emotions of meeting either of you in his current condition, anyway. He is healing quickly because of the serum, but he is still in very bad shape.”

“I can let him know it’s going to be a few days.” Tony says, standing. “Maybe get the doc to say it’s his orders or something, so Cap doesn’t spend a bunch of energy worrying about—”

“I want to see him.”

All eyes turn to Barnes. He hasn’t spoken loudly, but something in his voice demands their attention.

“Captain, are you sure?” Marya asks, laying a hand on his. He’s suddenly stopped idly twisting his coffee cup in his hands.

“The poor fuck’s team tried to kill him. I wish he wasn’t a version of Steve, but he’s Captain America, and so am I. I feel like I got a duty to at least see the guy.”

Tony nods approvingly. “I’ll go with you.”

“I’m a big boy, Tony. I can handle it.”

“Way to make me look like a selfish baby,” Bucky grumbles.

“You don’t need my help for that, pal,” Barnes grins and gets up from his chair. Tony does a double-take, surprised.

“What, you’re going now? Slow your roll, why don’t you? You just now learned about this. Like Bucky said, give yourself some time to get used to the idea.”

“Look, I appreciate that, Tony, but think about what you’re saying. The guy’s another version of my dead husband. That’s never not gonna be fucked up. His Bucky died seventy years ago, and from what you said, that hasn’t been enough time for him, either. I’m doing this.” 

With that, Barnes turns and strides for the door. Tony makes an annoyed sound and flops down onto the chair Barnes had just vacated.

“Something tells me I oughtta warn Doc Fabian,” he sighs, pulling his StarkPhone from his pocket.

* * *

Barnes has no idea what he’s doing, other than that it’s probably a colossal mistake. Then again, he’s made so many of those since Steve died, they barely register anymore, and he’d meant what he said to Tony. He feels for the guy, this Steve from another universe. _Another_ another universe, he thinks, wondering fleetingly how the hell Thor keeps them all straight.

The poor bastard’s own team tried to kill him. They teamed up with this Hydra that kept Marya and Bucky enslaved for so many years and forced them to commit such horrors. The guy has to be six shades of messed up, even without all the physical stuff. Barnes absolutely does not want to see him. But having lived with Bucky for all this time, Barnes know that this guy is Steve. He’s a version of Steve whose life is very different from the real Steve’s – well, _Barnes’s_ Steve’s – but he is still and undeniably Steve. 

It doesn’t matter what it’s gonna cost him. Steve’s hurting and in trouble, and Barnes is going to help him. He has no choice. He knows without a shred of doubt that Bucky feels the same. If Barnes wasn’t on his way right now, Bucky would be. That asshole can say whatever he wants, but one thing about being the same person – it’s impossible to lie to each other. They’d learned that the hard way on a series of successively more bizarre and frustrating poker nights.

The room they put Steve Rogers in is everbody’s favorite. They fight over it when more than one of them gets hurt on a mission and has to stay in medical. It has the best views, both out the window and from the door. Which is not to say they’re the most picturesque views – the windows on the East side of the floor are better and no hallway is particularly more scenic than another. What this room has is the best sightlines. Barnes finds himself pleased that Bruce put Steve in this room. After what he’s been through, he’ll need whatever small measure of security that provides.

He doesn’t hesitate when he gets to the door. He thinks about it – on the other side of that wall is an exact replica of Steve. But he knows he’s never going to be ready for that. And if that’s how he feels, he supposes the guy feels the same way about seeing his long-lost buddy. So when he reaches it, he just steps into the doorway.

Shit, this guy’s team did a number on him. He’s got bandages everywhere, and what isn’t bandaged is swollen and bruised. Sure, a lot of that will be gone by tonight, but right now he looks like a battlefield. Barnes focuses on that. He doesn’t focus on those fucking long-lashed blue eyes he thinks about a hundred times a day, or the way his fingers itch to touch when he sees how long this guy’s hair is. It’s nowhere near as long as Bucky’s, but it’s longer than Barnes’s Steve ever wore his. And this guy has a beard. Damn. If he’d known Stevie would look this good with a beard, he’d have insisted that he grow one.

When Steve looks up at the figure in the doorway, Barnes realizes from his dumbfounded expression that he’s made yet another monumental error. He should’ve had someone warn Steve that he was coming. _Good thing he’s in medical,_ Barnes thinks, _in case I gave him a damn stroke, on top of everything else he’s got goin’ on._

The poor guy just stares, mouth slack and hanging halfway open, and the pain in his eyes is excruciating to see. “ _Buck—”_ he whispers.

“No.” 

Steve blinks, tries to rearrange his expression, and begins to stammer. “No, I know, I’m sorry. I just—”

“It’s okay. I know this must be a mindfuck. Is for me, too. I just wanna be clear. I ain’t him.”

Neither moves or says anything else. Barnes waits, thinking he should give Steve a minute to get a grip on himself; he has a little bit of an idea what the guy must be feeling, and he’s actually not doing too well himself. It takes a minute for Steve to find his voice again and, when he does, it’s none too steady. 

“Do you want to come in?”


	22. Cap

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Barnes meets a Steve Rogers who hasn't seen his Bucky since he fell to his death from a train in the Alps. It's rough on both of them.

There are two chairs in Steve Rogers’s room on the medical floor of the tower. The closest one to the bed is against the wall next to the door. The one Barnes chooses is in the corner by the window. He does not want to sit close to the man in the bed, but that’s not the main reason for his choice. He chooses the corner chair because, from here, he can see the entire room, the door, and out the window. He’s not quite as obsessive about sightlines as some of his teammates (Clint’s the worst, with Bucky a close second), but he’s not going to put his back to a door without someone he trusts watching it.

At least, that’s what he tells himself. He doesn’t notice that he’s avoiding looking directly at Steve Rogers.

“Guess we know each other’s names,” Barnes says, looking at the wall behind Steve with a crooked attempt at a grin. “Stark said you wanted to meet, and I thought I should come by anyway, let you know you’re welcome.”

Steve Rogers is gaping at him like he’s about to devour Barnes whole. Even though Barnes isn’t looking at his eyes, it makes him uncomfortable, and it gets worse the longer Steve just continues to stare as if Barnes hasn’t spoken. 

“How are you doing?” Barnes finally asks politely, taking in the large array of equipment around the bed, most of which is attached to Rogers in some way. “Do you need anything? Pain meds, food, something to drink?”

Rogers still just blinks, taking him in and saying nothing. The moment stretches on long enough that Barnes decides to say something else, give the guy some time to pull himself together, and that’s when he realizes he doesn’t know what to call him.

The first idea that comes to mind is “Steve,” but he rejects it immediately for about a hundred different reasons. “Rogers” might work, but he used that with his Steve often enough that it feels too intimate, too. He decides to try “Cap.” Although that’s what most people called Steve, Barnes never did. In addition, Barnes has never let anyone call him that, so at least it won’t be confusing for that reason.

By the time he makes the decision, Cap has apparently realized he’s been gawking. He swipes a hand over his eyes and grimaces. 

“I’m sorry, what?” he asks sheepishly.

“You need anything?”

“No. No, I’m good,” Cap mutters, looking like he’s trying to shake himself out of his stunned paralysis. “So, um… what do I call you? Bucky?”

“Not unless you want a stiletto up your ass. People just call me Barnes.” 

“Oh. Stark said— Yeah. Okay. Barnes.” 

Barnes can see he’s disappointed this Steve already. _Well, that took three point five seconds. Guess that’s the same._ He damn near rolls his eyes at himself as he gives way beneath the weight of that look _._ “You can call me Jim if you want.”

That gets the first small approximation of a smile from the patient.

“That funny?”

“No, of course not,” Cap is quick to assure him. “It’s just, the James Barnes I knew went by Bucky. And _he_ woulda given you a stiletto up your ass if you called him Jim.”

Barnes nods, grinning a little. Although it’s the perfect opening to tell him about the Bucky who came to this universe, the team has agreed to try hard not to shock Cap when he’s still so injured. Besides, the poor fuck already seems to be having enough trouble not launching himself from the bed and grabbing Barnes in a seventy-year-overdue bear hug. Now is not the time to tell him there are _two_ of his old friend in this universe. 

“All right if I call you Cap?”

“Sure, that’s what my team… um—” Cap’s sentence winds down as the recall of what his team’s done to him hits him yet again. He’d been distracted for a moment by Barnes’s arrival, but all that means is that the realization gets a fresh start at tearing into him.

Even though Barnes is looking at the blankets, the IV machine, the readouts on the monitors – anywhere but directly at Cap, he still knows exactly what he’s feeling. This is Steve, after all. “Listen, Thor told us what happened to you. I’m sorry. Somethin’ like that, getting jumped by your own team, that’s gotta fuck with your chill in a big way. I assure you that you’re safe here. There’s no Hydra in this universe, and nobody in the Tower has any reason to mess with you.”

Barnes smirks a little as he continues. “Everybody’s under orders to treat you like Captain America, and Jarvis is a snitch. Which means anybody who fucks up would have to deal with me, and I tend to be a cranky fucker.”

Cap’s eyes haven’t left Barnes; he’s still watching every tiny movement. He’s slow to respond but, when he does, it’s in a flat, lifeless monotone. “Thanks. Appreciate it.”

“I don’t expect you to be able to just take my word. If there’s anything that would help you feel safer, just ask.”

“Any chance of a tour? Be interesting to see what’s the same and what’s different.”

Barnes expected that. He knows it’s a test, and agreeing will go a long way toward earning Cap’s trust. So he shrugs and stands. “You up for a ride? I’ll get a wheelchair.”

The change in position seems to ratchet up Cap’s already-avid interest in him. He watches Barnes’s movement, seemingly spellbound once again, entranced by the mere fact of Barnes standing at the foot of his bed. Although his eyes are no less hungry than they have been, he catches himself more quickly this time.

“I’m sorry— I know I’m— It’s just that you look so much like him. But different, too. It’s hard to wrap my head around.”

“Yeah. I get it,” Barnes shrugs, looking at the function lights blinking at the foot of the bed. “I have… a little bit of experience with the whole multiverse thing. And I know your friend died. Got a little experience with that, too. It’s all right.”

“Thanks,” Cap mutters. 

In preparation for his tour, he sits up and tries to swing his legs over the side of the bed. He immediately goes ghostly pale and breaks out in a sweat, falling back onto his pillows with a startled grunt of pain.

“Hey!” Barnes cries, and is at his side in one long stride. “What is it? You need the doc?”

“No,” Cap pants, a pained half-grin twisting his lips. “I’ll be fine, I just— Maybe we’ll take that tour a little later, huh?”

“Yeah, sure. You need help or…?” 

Unsurprisingly, Cap waves Barnes away as he adjusts his position, extremely slowly and carefully, until he’s lying down again. He’s still frighteningly pale, and it’s clear he’s fighting some serious pain.

“I’m callin the doc,” Barnes announces, pushing the call button on the siderail of the bed before Cap can do anything about it.

“No, it’s—”

“If you say it’s fine, I’ll—” Barnes bites off the end of that sentence, but it’s too late. Apparently, Cap’s Bucky had the bedside manner of a Sherman tank, too, because Cap sucks in his breath and snaps his head up. He looks to Barnes as though he’s about to burst into tears, even though he’s grinning a little, too.

“Sorry,” Barnes grumbles, embarrassed, moving away and looking at the floor. “Old habit.”

He returns to his chair and it’s an awkward minute or so before a nurse bustles in the door to see what Cap needs. He tries to tell her he’s fine, but she’s a professional and she’s been briefed. She straightens the bed and helps him get into a more comfortable position, assessing him the entire time. Then she simply announces he’s getting pain medication and enters a code into the machine controlling his IV, which Barnes knows from experience will give him a dose of Bruce’s supersoldier painkiller. Before she leaves the room, Cap’s already looking a little better. 

He’s the first one to talk once she’s gone. “She seems to think she has me all figured out. The doc said something, too... I guess there must be a Steve Rogers in this universe, huh?”

 _Shit._ Barnes should’ve planned what to say to this very predictable question. This, too, is something that should wait until Cap is stronger. There’s no telling how he’ll react to learning that this universe’s version of him is dead, killed by the Mandarin. 

Either Barnes’s pain is clear on his face or Cap can just read him easily – probably both – because before Barnes can think of a response, Cap says, “I don’t want to know the answer to that, do I?” 

“There was a Steve Rogers. Yes.” _Fuck it_ , Barnes thinks. _I ain’t gonna pretend Steve never existed. He already guessed, anyway._

“Was. Shit,” Cap says, deeply unsure he wants to know this.

“Yeah. Best friend a guy ever had.”

“He’s dead?”

“Yeah.”

“I’m sorry, Bu- uh, Barnes. Jim.” 

“Yeah,” Barnes grunts again. 

“What happened to him?”

Barnes shakes his head. “I shouldn’t have even told you that much. Supposed to be keepin’ it light here. How ‘bout we save that for another time?”

Cap nods reluctantly. It’s obvious he’s curious. “On the bright side, at least I won’t have to deal with my alternate self. That’s gotta be a plus, right?”

Barnes wants to laugh and tell him how right he is, but that would mean talking about Bucky, so he simply agrees.

“Can I ask about the arm?” 

Barnes appreciates Cap’s rather transparent change of subject. He knows he probably looks like a kicked dog – he always does when the subject of Steve comes up – and it’s the sort of kind gesture his Steve would’ve made. It also gets Barnes out of having to try to avoid the subject of his marriage. He’s definitely not ready to discuss that with this Steve-but-not-Steve, even if he knew how the guy would react to learning about it.

Barnes pulls up the sleeve of his black Henley and turns his arm to different angles so Cap can see the way the components move. “Badass, right?”

“Seriously badass,” Cap answers, eyes widening with interest. He’s grinning like a kid looking at a new video game.

“Lost the original in a building collapse,” Barnes notes, standing and moving back to the side of the bed so Cap can see his arm better.

“Shit. Sorry.”

“Are you kidding? This one kicks ass. Coulda done without the accident, but I love the arm.”

“Stark?”

“He made the original, but this one was made by Princess Shuri in Wakanda.”

Cap looks up at his face then, nonplussed. “I don’t— Wakanda?”

“Oh,” Barnes blinks. “Your Wakanda’s, uh, a developing country still?”

“It’s certainly not somewhere you’d expect to see technology like this,” Steve answers, indicating Barnes’s arm.

Barnes smiles. “You might be surprised.”

“What’s that mean?”

“Wakanda has some secrets. It’s exactly where you’d expect to find this kinda stuff. At least, _our_ Wakanda.”

Barnes pulls down his sleeve and moves back to the chair in the corner.

“Is it permanently attached? I mean, you move it like a regular arm, so it’s clearly not just a prosthetic.”

“It’s hardwired into my nervous system. Got feeling and everything. After I healed up, it never hurt or anything, not like— Like I thought it might." 

Cap nods, appearing to approve. He’s still staring at Barnes, although maybe a little less voraciously than he had been. It’s starting to get on Barnes’s nerves. He knows why he’s irritated. He wants nothing more than to stare right back at this man who looks and sounds exactly like Steve, to let himself drink in the sight of the man he’s ached to see every minute for the last two years. But he won’t do that to himself. This isn’t Steve. In fact, although there are many points at which their stories converged, this guy’s life has been very different from Barnes’s and his Steve’s. 

“You’re older than he was,” Cap interrupts Barnes, pulling him back to the present from a side trip he hadn’t realized he was taking. Even so, Barnes knows exactly what he’s talking about.

“Guess so,” Barnes grunts. “Stark said yours fell from a train? How old was he?” 

“Twenty-seven. He’d be – well, he’d be dead now, I guess, or really old. I guess I just always think of him as only a year older than me.” The expression on Cap’s face undergoes several changes over the next minute or so. He continues to look at Barnes, but it’s not Barnes he’s seeing.

“Looking back now,” he goes on, “We were just kids when we went to war. By the time he fell, though… he was older. Older than just from the coupla years we fought Hydra in Europe.”

Barnes doesn’t say anything, just lets Cap ruminate or whatever he’s doing. There’s nothing he could say, anyway.

“I guess I don’t have to tell you that. Or… wait.” Cap suddenly looks very confused. “How are you still this age?” 

“Wondered when you were gonna get to that,” Barnes grins, looking somewhere in the neighborhood of Cap’s left shoulder. “I’m this age because that’s how old I am. Me and Steve, we were born long after the war ended. Thor told us that you were frozen in ice for seventy years? That right?”

“Yeah,” Cap answers, forehead wrinkled as he tries to work this through. “Yeah. But we didn’t— I mean, you and Steve Rogers didn’t grow up together?” 

“We did. But not back then.”

“What about Project Rebirth? The serum? Did he do any of that?”

“Sure. We both did. He was bound and determined to do it, because Steve Rogers never met a damn-fool suicidal idea he didn’t like. I wasn’t gonna let him do it alone, so we both volunteered. We ended up being the ones they picked.”

“Wait, so you… you’ve had the serum, too?”

“Yeah. Marya, too, except she got hers from Hydra.”

“Marya,” Cap spits. “Thought I was hallucinating when she walked in here this morning.”

“Whadda you got against Marya?” Barnes asks, surprised into looking Cap full in the face.

“In my universe, that bitch is the leader of Hydra’s kill squads. She’s a fucking savage. Cold as ice. Our Marya is basically death walking. Are you sure you can trust yours?”

“Trust her with my life. On a regular basis, in fact. Sounds like our Marya’s not like yours.”

“Yours admits she’s Hydra.”

“Was, and not by choice. Now she’s with us.”

For a moment, their eyes meet and hold. Cap doesn’t pursue it, because it’s clear Barnes isn’t going to budge on this, but he makes his deep skepticism obvious. Barnes, knowing he isn’t going to change Cap’s mind this morning, lets it go, too, and looks away. That’ll just have to work itself out, and he has to remember to cut the guy a lot of slack. In his position, Barnes wouldn’t trust anyone, either. 

The eye contact changes something in the air, though. Cap goes quiet, taking Barnes in with renewed intensity.

“You okay?” Barnes asks after a moment.

“Yeah. It’s just… hard seeing you and… trying to separate you from him, I guess. I know you’re not him. But I keep feeling like it’s good to see you. Good to hear your voice.” Cap’s getting perilously close to emotional again, and Barnes isn’t far behind.

“Yeah. Same here. Seeing my, um… best friend.”

Cap goes still, and from the corner of his eye, Barnes can see him tilt his head slightly in query. 

“What?” Barnes asks.

“I don’t suppose you wanna tell me what it is you’re not saying?”

“What makes you think I’m not saying something?”

“C’mon, man. I’m not stupid.”

“Dude, you’re Steve Rogers. Of course you’re st—” Barnes again stops himself abruptly. “Fuck. Sorry.”

Cap smiles, the first real smile Barnes has seen from him, and it knocks the breath out of him. Now it’s Barnes who’s staring, and Cap isn’t looking away. “Barnes. You said I’m safe here, and nobody’s gonna mess with me. Doesn’t that include you?”

“It’s not bad stuff, I swear,” Barnes manages to say, although he’s knocked _way_ off his game by that smile.

“Uh-huh,” Cap drawls with dripping sarcasm. “Guess that’s why you won’t look at me? ‘Cause it’s not bad stuff?” 

“What are you—” There’s not much Barnes can say about that when he realizes as soon as Cap says it that it’s true. He decides just to ignore it. “Look, you’re beat to hell with a major head injury. There’s some things about this universe that just… might freak you out, and we thought it’d be best to take it slow.”

“You said you and your Steve Rogers were best friends,” Cap says quietly. “Would he have been okay with that?”

Barnes slouches down in his chair and lets his head fall back against the wall. “Son of a –” he hisses. “You’re just as much of a reckless asshole as he was, aren’t you?”

“Maybe more,” Cap smirks. “Barnes, I don’t break easy. You want me to trust you? Feel safe here? How about you start by bein’ straight with me? I gotta tell you, secrets never sit too well with me, and right now I got about zero tolerance for ‘em.”

“There’s no secrets, it’s just some of this stuff might be a little shocking—”

“More shocking than finding out I died here? I think I took that pretty well, don’t you?”

Barnes glares at him. “Stupid, stubborn motherfucker,” he mutters. “You really are Steve Rogers, aren’t you?”

“I am. And you said everyone had orders to treat me like Captain America. So how about it, _Sergeant_? You gonna answer my question?”

Barnes would run from the room right now if he could. Everything about that exchange, particularly the sly, flirty smile as Cap calls Barnes _Sergeant_ , feels like a warm summer rain on ground that has grown cracked and parched from drought. It terrifies him how good it feels. But he reminds himself it isn’t real. Cap isn’t Steve. He’d been right – this was a mistake. He needs desperately to get out of here, away from Cap, to go somewhere and pull himself together. But he finds himself unable to do it. 

Moving on to Plan B, he tries to regain control of the situation. “Surprise number one, smartass. You’re not the only Captain America in this room.”

Cap’s eyebrows go up, and his pulls his head back a little in surprise, but he doesn’t seem the slightest bit shaken by the news. “Really? You’re Captain America?”

“Look better in the suit than you ever did, pal.”

“That’s—” Cap begins, relaxing a little into his pillows as he mulls that over. “You’re Captain America,” he mutters, practically to himself, before looking back at Barnes. “So was I ever… er, was _he_ ever?”

“Yeah. ‘S how he died.”

“And you took up the shield after him.”

“Somethin’ like that.”

There’s a silence while Cap waits for Barnes to say more, but he doesn’t. 

“So what is it you’re not telling me? Something about the two of you?” 

Barnes remains silent, suddenly finding his boots fascinating. 

“Barnes?” Cap prods, not unkindly.

“You and your Bucky, were you two a couple?”

Cap blinks at that, but doesn’t seem upset or thrown off by the question. “No. It was a different time then and, far as I know, Bucky was straight. I had it bad for him, but I never told a soul I was bi until after I came out of the ice. Is that what it is? You two were together?”

“Married.”

“Married, really?” Cap starts to smile, apparently delighted, until it hits him. He stops himself just in time from saying something stupid.

“Oh, shit. Fuck, Barnes, I am so sorry. Don’t get me wrong, I love the idea that you were together, but that means—”

“Means I lost my husband and my best friend at the same time. Yeah.”

Cap shakes his head sadly. He looks a little sick at the idea. “How did it happen?”

“On a mission. He died savin’ a bunch of people. Jumpin’ right into the belly of the fuckin’ beast, like he always did. Only that time, I wasn’t there to cover him. He—” Barnes swallowed. “I’m sorry, you’re gonna have to ask someone else. Someday maybe I won’t be such a pussy, but I just… yeah.”

“Hey, no. You don’t have to tell me. And maybe I just got here and I’ve never actually seen you before, but if you’re Bucky, then I also know what I’m looking at. You think it was your fault.”

Barnes shakes his head, not because Cap isn’t right, but because Sam’s made him say this over and over. “I know it wasn’t. He sent me in a different direction and I went. And I always knew there could come a time when I wasn’t there to save his reckless ass. Doesn’t mean it doesn’t hurt like a motherfucker.”

“I’m sorry I pushed you about it. I had no idea. That’s no excuse, but—” 

“You got the best excuse in the world, pal. You’re Steve Rogers. It’s what you do.” Barnes’s small laugh is equal parts amusement and grief. For a while, Cap just lets him think his thoughts, and even manages to take a break from the gawking for a minute, giving Barnes a bit of privacy by looking away. He turns back to him, though, when Barnes stands. 

“Think I better let you rest. I’ve told you enough shit I wasn’t gonna.”

“No, please, don’t go,” Cap says, sitting up a little as if to physically stop him from leaving. “We’ll talk about something else.”

“Ain’t that. You need to take it easy. Stark’ll have my ass if I kill you just ‘cause I couldn’t keep my mouth shut.”

“I told you, I don’t break easy.”

Once again, Barnes finds himself feeling weak at the thought of disappointing this man, even as he reminds himself that he’s a total stranger and not Steve. “Fine, you big baby,” he grouses on his way to the door. “I’ll come back this afternoon.”

He turns around in the doorway to face Cap, whose entire countenance looks like he’s fighting not to beg Barnes to stay. “Listen, try to relax if you can. My team is absolutely solid. You’re safe here. You got my word on that.”

“Gotta tell ya’,” Cap sighs, “Right now yours is the only word I think I’d be able to begin to trust. Which I suppose makes no sense, given that we just met.”

“’Course it does. Me ‘n your Bucky are the same person. You trusted him, yeah?”

“Completely.”

“Then you know you can trust me. Anyway, get some sleep. Do some of that superhealing. You really do look like shit.”

Although he’s trying not to look, Barnes can’t miss seeing the big smile on Cap’s face just before he turns away to walk down the hall.

* * *

The Avengers Initiative training facility outside the city is the size of a sports stadium. It’s built similar to one, in that it is a huge space with no interior support structures covered by a fabric roof supported by air pressure. But all of the floor space is open, since there are no stands for spectators. Inside, there’s a system of grids and a power supply that can be configured into different training environments, including model buildings, vehicles, and people. 

Barnes puts himself through a grueling workout in the training course Clint and Natasha put together. Everybody groans when those two team up to design a course, because Natasha is tricky and mean, and Clint has a wicked sense of humor. Today, though, Barnes isn’t laughing. He’s also not fighting like it’s training. The bullets are rubber, but he’s putting them into vulnerable spots – servos, hydraulic couplings, power intakes – so that, rubber or not, the bullets are actually destroying the components of the course. He’s using rubber training knives, too, but he’s still doing maximum damage. 

He punches his left arm clean through an animatronic training dummy. Rather than stopping and pulling his arm out of it, he uses it to bludgeon two more until all three are sparking, smoking rubble. Then he jumps from the rooftop he’s on, which is collapsing, to grab the skids of a full-scale model helicopter moving overhead, suspended by cables from a set of tracks just beneath the ceiling of the training building, ten stories above. The six robotic crew members all end up in a heap on the floor below, having hit Barnes with a grand total of one rubber bullet, even though each was fully armed. He permanently disables the helicopter and leaps the two stories down to the rooftop of another building.

When he emerges from the front door of that building, he’s used several pieces of furniture to destroy yet more robotic soldiers and animatronic training dummies. He’s stabbed one with a rubber knife so hard that the sensors meant to register a hit short out, crashed through a wall to rescue the target rather than bothering with the guards at the door, and somehow set fire to the building in the process. 

Bucky’s standing next to the control panel that runs the training course when Barnes reaches it with the rescued “hostage” in his arms. One eyebrow’s cocked with curious amusement, and he grunts a little “huh” as he pushes the button to activate the fire suppression system. (The training course originally didn’t have one, but fires became such a routine occurrence that Tony had grudgingly installed one. He’d made it both smart and heavy-duty, suspecting that its presence would give the Avengers ideas about including fire hazards in their courses. He’d been right.)

“I texted Bruce, asked him to put chill pills in Tony’s supplements,” Bucky drawls. “Personally, I’m just gonna maybe leave the country for a while. I do not wanna listen to the whining.”

“I’ll have to apologize to Clint and Natasha, I guess,” Barnes pants, setting the “hostage” down with surprising gentleness given the frenzy of violence that preceded its rescue.

“You kidding? They’ll just laugh and take this as a challenge.” 

Bucky tosses Barnes a towel and waits while he wipes the sweat, soot, and hydraulic fluid from his face. When he’s done, Barnes looks expectantly at Bucky. “You need somethin’?”

“Thought you might wanna debrief your meeting with—” Bucky waves a hand in the general direction of the Tower, which is several miles away from the training complex. 

“I started calling him Cap.”

Bucky nods, knowing all Barnes’s reasons for that choice without him having to say a word. There are benefits to being the same person, even if your doppelgänger is kind of a dick.

“He’s beat to hell. Seems to be taking what his team did pretty well, though. Better than I would.”

“Steve’s a tough sonofabitch. Always was.”

“He’s not Steve,” Barnes snaps.

“Believe me, I get that. I’m lookin’ at _you_ , after all. But he’s _a_ Steve, so it doesn’t surprise me that he’s tough. That’s all I’m sayin’.” 

“Whatever,” Barnes growls, and pulls a sweatshirt on over the form-fitting black T-shirt he’s wearing with his black tac pants. “’M goin’ back to the Tower. I need a shower.”

“Did it help?” Bucky asks, falling into step beside Barnes as he makes his way toward the facility entrance. 

“Did what help with what?”

“Dude, really? You’re gonna try to pretend with _me_? But sure, what the hell. I’ll spell it out. Did destroying the training course help with whatever shit got stirred up by seein’ Cap.”

Barnes sighs, every bit as irritated as he appears by the question. “Who died and made you Sam Wilson? I don’t wanna talk about it.”

“First of all, Sam’s great, but he ain’t us. He can’t really know what it’s like having Ste— Cap here. And second, I ain’t askin’ for you. I’m askin’ for me. ‘Cause at some point, I gotta deal with his not-Steve ass, too.”

“And third, you’re a sucker for Steve, always were, and you gotta be sure Cap’s okay, even though he’s a complete stranger.”

“I’d pretend you’re full of shit, but it’d be kind of pointless. Like it or not – and I _don’t –_ I can’t bullshit you.” 

They emerge into the warmth of a late afternoon in June, and Barnes notices Bucky’s motorcycle parked next to his. He doesn’t say anything as they walk toward them, and Bucky doesn’t push. When they’re helmeted and lifting their bikes from their kickstands, Barnes says, “I ain’t ready to go back. Still got some shit to get outta my system.” He gives Bucky a wicked look from under his eyebrows. “You game?”

Bucky grin is just as full of the devil as Barnes's. With their enhanced bodies and identical wild streaks, the two of them are a hideously dangerous combination. “Don’t tell Marya. She hates it when we do this.” 

For the next two hours, Barnes and Bucky race each other through the streets of New York, running their motorcycles flat out and taking insane chances. They hit three of the five boroughs, including boulevards through lovely family neighborhoods, narrow, trash-choked alleys, and an exhilarating rush-hour jaunt the wrong way down the Long Island Expressway. 

They’re chased by police two different times, but easily lose their pursuers until, in the end, the NYPD sends up a chopper. Laughing like maniacs, they decide it’s time to get back, anyway, and head for the Tower. Pepper will be annoyed – after all, they promised to stop this – but Tony will help smooth things with her. He thinks it’s great training and big fun. (Unbeknownst to Pepper, he’s joined them a time or three.) 

There won’t be any real repercussions. That’s what money and lawyers are for.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Got something to say about the story so far? I want to hear it! Please comment or come say hi on Tumblr!


	23. Show and Tell

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Barnes keeps his word and takes Cap on a tour of Stark Tower, but it's cut short by Cap's wounds - and his severe physical injuries aren't the ones that really hurt. Barnes has an idea that might help Cap begin to recover, but it's a risk.

* * *

Cap looks a little better when Barnes enters his hospital room for the second time. His facial wounds are healing, and he’s sitting in the chair Barnes had occupied on his first visit, a blanket over his legs. He no longer has an oxygen tube in his nose. He’s looking out the window, but it’s immediately obvious that his mind is not on the view. 

Barnes can’t help but laugh when Cap turns his head so fast upon noticing him that he aggravates whatever injury he has in his neck. 

“Sorry. Didn’t mean to scare you.”

Barnes half expects a smartass response, but he doesn’t get it. Instead, Cap looks like… well, like he’s seen a ghost. As soon as that occurs to Barnes, his face goes serious, too, and he apologizes sincerely. “I shoulda called, warned you I was comin’.”

“I don’t know how much difference it would’ve made,” Cap sighs. “It’s gonna take me a while.”

“If it makes you feel any better, I stood outside for at least a minute preparin’ myself to see you.”

Cap smiles wanly at that, and his expression warms. “It does help, actually. Thanks for sayin’ it.”

“It’s a fucked-up situation. Guess we oughtta give ourselves a break.”

Cap nods, then tilts his head a little. “Now what are you laughin’ at?”

“You, sittin’ there, all snug with a blanket over your legs. You look like somebody’s grandpa.”

“Yeah, well, we’ll see how _you_ look when you’re a hundred years old.”

Barnes shrugs and grins, then asks, “How’re you doing? Looks like you’ve healed some. Pain any better?”

“It’s okay. It's different from this morning. Now I got stuff knitting back together. It feels—” 

When Cap struggles for a description, Barnes helps him out. “Feels like ants crawling under your skin. Burns a little when the nerves reattach?”

“Exactly!" Cap says, surprised. "Never had anyone to compare notes with before. Nobody else where I’m from had the serum.”

Barnes nodes slightly in acknowledgement. He’s still standing uncomfortably a few steps inside the door of the room. As before, he’s unaware that he’s avoiding looking directly at Cap as much as he can. “So, um… you wanna talk, or maybe take that tour, since it looks like you could handle riding in a wheelchair now?”

Cap’s face brightens with excitement. “I’d tell you I can walk, but I suspect you won’t listen to me.”

“Nope. But you wouldn’t be Steve Rogers if you didn’t try. I’ll go get a wheelchair, and see if all those IV’s and whatever have to come with you. I didn’t notice you had a chest tube before.”

Cap winces. “I didn’t. They thought my lung was gonna re-inflate on its own, but they decided it wasn’t happening fast enough. Guess I was still bleeding in there somewhere.”

“Shit. They really did a number on you, huh.”

“They _are_ the Avengers,” Cap shrugs, the pain of saying that obvious on his face. 

Barnes swears expressively. “I don’t know what you and Thor are gonna wanna do, but I wouldn’t mind helpin’ you get some payback. The idea of Tony and Nat, and Sam—”

“And Bruce and Clint, yeah. I appreciate the thought. Your Bruce said the same thing earlier. I’m not ready to think about that, though. I mean, no matter what happens, it’s impossible. What am I supposed to do, kill my own team? Put them in the Raft? Even if they could be turned back from Hydra, how would I ever trust them again?”

It’s obvious this is what Cap had been thinking when Barnes came into the room, and it’s equally obvious how much it hurts. As he speaks, Barnes notices for the first time a certain hardness, a severity to Cap that hadn’t existed in his own Steve. It reminds him distantly of something, but he’s not sure what. It isn’t that he’s afraid of this Steve, exactly, but he doesn’t want to find himself on his bad side, either. He feels a little chill run down his spine that contains an element of desire he doesn’t want to examine too closely. 

“I don’t know the answer to any of that, Cap. What I know is, whatever you decide, you got somewhere to be. If you decide to just let that universe sink with Hydra, we’d be glad to have you here with us.”

For a moment, Cap doesn’t respond. His whirling emotions play across his face, grief and anger warring with a gratitude that ultimately wins out. His eyes are moist as he replies, “Thank you… Jim. You can’t know how much that helps.”

Once again, Barnes grins without meaning to. 

“What is it now?” Cap groans, grinning a little himself. 

“I’m sorry, I don’t mean to— It’s just, when you said my name, you looked like you bit a lemon.”

Cap actually manages to chuckle a little. “No, it’s not… there’s nothing wrong with your name. It’s just an adjustment. Bucky woulda come after me for calling him that.”

“Still will.”

“Huh?”

Barnes blinks. _Shit._ “No, nothin’, I… I don’t know what I— I’m gonna go get a wheelchair.”

The evening nurse makes Barnes wait outside the room while he unhooks Cap from his IVs and helps him put on some loose pants made of a soft, stretchy material. Cap wants to wear a grey-blue T-shirt, but the nurse finally vetoes that when trying to put it on causes him too much pain. Cap’s not happy about that, but the nurse just tosses the T-shirt on the bed and holds one sleeve of a zip-up hoodie out to him. 

“I hate hospitals,” Cap grumbles, trying not to show the pain it causes to lift his arm and slide it into the hoodie.

“Broken ribs hurt, sir, and you had a dislocated shoulder. You’re lucky you’ve got that super-healing,” the nurse says, noting that the bruises covering Cap’s torso are still severe. He wonders what they looked like last night, if they’re still this bad now. “Once we get this sweatshirt on you, we’ll put the sling back on to hold your arm steady.”

“I don’t need it.”

“It’ll make you more comfortable while—”

“ _I don’t need it_ ,” Cap hisses, and the nurse decides to let him have this one. He is, after all, technically right, even though that shoulder has to hurt like a bitch.

While Cap’s getting dressed, Barnes is out of hearing distance, on the phone with Bucky.

“I’m gonna take him around a little, help him see he’s safe here. Maybe you can just stay in your apartment for a while so we don’t run into you? I don’t think that would go well.”

“I can do that,” Bucky agrees. “I got no desire to see him yet, either.”

“Is Marya there with you?”

“She’s with Stark on the firing range, testing those new throwing knives she wants. Why? He’s already met her.”

“Yeah, he just… didn’t she tell you? His universe’s Marya is apparently pretty hard-core Hydra.”

“Think I should get her to come home?”

Barnes thinks about that for a second. “I don’t know. I mean, he knows ours isn’t a threat.”

“Knowing it and believing it are two different things. I’ll call her.”

Again there’s a silence. 

“What?” Bucky prods.

“Just wonderin’ if we’d be so careful if he didn’t look like Steve.”

Bucky sighs. “Probably. But you’d have to ask someone who ain’t us.”

“Yeah,” Barnes grunts. “Fuck.”

“You know,” Bucky says kindly, “Anyone else can show him around. Stark. Or Sam or Clint.”

“Whatever. I’m committed now. Anyway, I don’t know, there’s somethin’ about him. He’s Steve, but he’s not. The more I see of him, the more I can separate them." 

“Really. That sounds… healthy, I guess.”

“Yeah. His life is a lot more like your Steve’s than mine. You’re probably more like his Bucky.”

“Maybe. Guess we’ll see.”

“Guess so. Later.”

Barnes hangs up and goes back into Cap’s room to see the nurse assisting him. Cap’s now dressed and free of his IVs, but he’s not having an easy time getting into the wheelchair. Barnes doesn’t know whether Cap really thought he could take the tour on his own two feet, but it’s obvious that he can barely stand yet. For one thing, he has a cast on one leg that Barnes hadn’t seen before. Barnes can’t stop himself from going to his side and helping the nurse, even though Cap makes complaining noises. 

Eventually, he’s settled in the chair. There’s a heaviness to his breathing and a flush to his skin that betrays how much work it had been simply to transfer from one chair to the other. 

Barnes can’t resist asking, “You want a blanket for your legs, Grampa?”

“Fuck you,” Cap mutters, but he’s grinning.

Barnes taps a switch that releases the brakes on the high-tech Stark wheelchair and begins to push it toward the door. He notices Cap tense. 

“Hey. You’re safe,” Barnes tells him, putting a reassuring hand on his shoulder. “But if you want, I could give you a weapon or something. Even my shield.”

“I’d look pretty stupid sitting here with the shield. Not to mention it wouldn’t look too friendly.”

“Fuck that. I told you I’d do what you need to make you feel safe.” Barnes pulls a heavy switchblade out of somewhere and hands it to Cap. “Here.”

Cap takes it and pushes the catch. A long, razor-sharp blade shoots out the end, and Cap whistles. “Nice.”

“It’s yours,” Barnes says, and crosses the room to the door. When Cap thanks him, he frowns behind Cap’s back. It’s one of his favorite knives, and he has absolutely no idea why he’s just given it to Cap. Or why he feels so good about it. His lips stretch into a grim line, and he tells himself he just wants to do something to help the poor guy out. He’s been through Barnes’s worst nightmare. Besides, if it was his Steve who found himself gravely wounded in another universe, he’d want that universe’s Barnes to take care of him. 

Outside the room, Cap gets his first look at the medical floor of Stark Tower. “Looks the same,” he notes. “Although I try not to spend too much time here.”

“Don’t we all,” Barnes answers. On the way to the elevator, he asks, “So, what would you like to see?”

“Hadn’t really thought that far ahead.”

“Well, aside from just getting you out of that room for a while, we’re supposed to be showing you we got nothin’ to hide. So what would you _not_ let someone see if there was a problem?”

“Uh… the labs, I guess.”

“Okay. Labs it is.”

Bruce isn’t in his lab. Tony’s put elaborate security on it, which Bruce never uses, so Barnes is able to wheel Cap in and let him look around. 

“This look familiar?” Barnes asks.

“I guess so. It has the same spartan thing my Bruce’s—” Cap’s voice breaks and cuts off. 

Barnes looks at him from a few feet away, where he’s writing a foul word with his fingertip in the sand of a little Zen garden thing Bruce keeps at the edge of one of the counters. “St— Cap?”

Cap is squeezing his eyes shut and grimacing, shaking his head slowly, as if in excruciating pain. “It’s— I’m okay. I just—” And then he’s covering his face with his hand.

Barnes looks around and doesn’t see any tissues, so he pulls a sheet of paper toweling from the dispenser next to the sink and puts it into Cap’s lap. He says nothing, just pulls a rolling stool over and sits a few feet from Cap’s wheelchair. He looks around with an edge of panic, wanting to help but with no idea what to do. He wonders if he should call Sam. Feelings are not Barnes’s thing, as evidenced by his destruction of the training environment this afternoon to deal with his own.

“I’m sorry,” Cap says in a half-choked voice. “I don’t know where— I just—” 

When he doesn’t go on, Barnes understands that he can’t, and he puts a hand on the armrest of the wheelchair. “You're all right. Just, um… take your time.”

From behind his hand, Cap says, “He wasn’t the Hulk. Didn’t even change. He just watched it happen. I think he had a gun, maybe… I don’t know. He just—” Cap shakes his head, then picks up the paper towel and swipes it angrily at his eyes. “Sonofabitch just sat there watching them kill me. Like they didn’t need his help, but he didn’t wanna miss it.”

At that, Cap loses control and sobs into his hands. Barnes feels a flash of anger as he puts a hand on Cap’s shoulder, just squeezing because he doesn’t know what to say. As Cap vents his grief, Barnes imagines going to Cap’s universe and smashing that Bruce’s face in with the shield. Then again, since he didn’t seem to think Cap’s death was worth changing into the Hulk for, maybe Barnes would just use his fist. His _right_ fist. Fuck that guy.

After a minute or two, Cap wipes at his eyes again and asks in a painfully small voice, “Could we just go somewhere else?”

“’Course,” Barnes says quickly. “Firing range?”

“You guys have a firing range at the Tower?”

“Under the parking levels. Don’t you?”

“No.”

“Wanna see ours?”

“Hell, yeah,” Cap says, gamely trying to grin. 

“You, um… Would you prefer not to see anyone? I could ask if anyone’s down there right now. Marya and Tony were there a while ago, but um… I didn’t think you’d want to see her, so she was gonna go to her apartment.”

Barnes can see Cap wants to say the polite thing, that it’s not really fair for her to have to make herself scarce in her own universe. But he can’t.

“She won’t mind. She wants you to feel safe here, too.”

Cap doesn’t respond while Barnes turns the wheelchair toward the door and begins making for the elevator. It’s not until they’re out of Bruce’s lab that Cap murmurs, “Maybe I shouldn't hate my universe’s Marya so much. At least she’s honest about who she is.” He scoffs bitterly. “How messed up is your life when your worst enemy turns out to be more admirable than your best friends?”

Once again, Barnes doesn’t know what to say, but he thinks maybe Cap needs to talk about this. “You have any warning?”

“Yeah,” Cap sighs. “Yeah, I did. Not much, but… I could see them changing. Hear it in the things they said. And then they started being secretive, lying to me about where they’d been. I finally went to Thor, asked him to help me figure out what was going on. I hated myself for it, for thinking the worst. They were my _family_. But it didn’t take Thor long to find out Nat and Sam had been meeting with Marya.” Cap shakes his head in disbelief. “I just couldn’t conceive of them having anything to do with Hydra.” 

After a few moments go by when the only sound is the soft whoosh of the elevator descending, Barnes mutters, “Sorry, pal. I can’t even imagine.”

“And then, last night,” Cap goes on, apparently unaware of Barnes having spoken, “The Assemble alarm goes off. It’s all hush-hush, they say there’s a secret mission. But, of course, that was just to prevent anyone showing up who might’ve fought with me. We fly to the Compound, which they tell me is compromised by Hydra – the fucking irony of that – and I walk right into their trap. In fact, I fucking _led_ them into it. They’d built a kind of cage, so that I couldn’t run.” 

Cap looks wearily at his feet. “Which shows how well they know me, because running’s exactly what I would’ve done. They knew I couldn’t kill any of them. Only one who was gonna die in there was me.”

The elevator reaches the sub-basement where the firing range is. The doors open, but Barnes doesn’t move from where he’s leaning against the wall beside Cap. He just waits for Cap to say what he needs to. Cap looks up at him with watery blue eyes in a face ravaged by pain. “How about you show me your firing range, huh? Might be good to get my mind off this for a while.”

“Yeah, sure,” Barnes agrees. “So they never even tried to recruit you to Hydra?”

“They tried to hide it from me entirely. By the time I suspected, they were already turned.”

“You know why, right?”

Cap gives an ugly, cruel laugh. “Guess I wasn’t invited to the party.”

If the whole thing wasn’t so disgusting, Barnes might’ve pointed out the ridiculousness of Cap feeling hurt that his Avengers didn’t include him in their plan to betray everything the Avengers was about. Instead, he says, “Because there was no chance you would let it happen. You were always gonna do what was right. That’s why they had to kill you, because they knew you’d try to stop them, and they were afraid you’d succeed.”

Cap looks at Barnes with a smile entirely devoid of humor. “Are you really trying to make me feel better about my best friends conspiring to murder me?”

Barnes gives a rueful grin and shrugs. “My point is, you’re entirely incorruptible, and they know that. And from what I know of this Hydra, they’re masters at corrupting people, or at least making people do their will. I’m never gonna try to excuse what your team did. But who knows what Hydra did to them to make them turn? And they didn’t even try to get you, because they knew that they never could. Maybe that’s something to hold onto.” 

Cap just looks at Barnes for a minute, then says quietly, “That’s something Bucky woulda said. I’m not tryin’ to make you into him,” he says quickly, before Barnes can object. “It’s a compliment. He was the best guy I ever knew. He could get me through anything. I don’t know if you wanna hear this, but if I’d been offered the chance to give up all the Avengers in my universe for the chance to see him again, I mighta made that deal. Finding you here…”

Now it’s Barnes who spends a moment looking at Cap without speaking. He shoves off from the wall and steps behind Cap’s wheelchair to push it out and toward the entrance to the firing range, which lies behind a soundproof wall with a thick door. He opens the door and uses one hand to pull Cap through, then stops just inside, next to a corner where open lockers line both walls with benches in front of them. There are a series of lockboxes of various sizes further down, and to the left, the several firing lanes of the range itself. Beyond that, there’s a wider area with stuffed targets for knives and arrows.

“Wow,” Cap exclaims, with far less enthusiasm than he’d feel at another time. It’s a beautiful, state-of-the-art facility, with all the bells and whistles. “This is amazing. We definitely don’t have anything like this. We use the NYPD’s ranges. Clint built an archery course at the Compound, but… nothing like this.”

As he says this, Barnes notices Cap rub at his torso and wonders whether that’s one of the places he’d had an arrow in him the night before. He slowly wheels Cap around, not saying much, because there’s not much to say. Cap knows what he’s seeing, and if he doesn’t, Barnes figures he’ll ask. 

Besides, he’s thinking hard. He knows Tony wouldn’t agree with what he’s considering, and doubts anyone else would, either. 

With the possible exception of Bucky. 

When they’ve walked the length of the range and turned around, Cap says, “I’d love to try it out. Not sure my arms’ll take it right now, though.”

Barnes grunts in acknowledgement. “You’ll be ready soon enough. It’ll be here when you are.”

“You got quiet,” Cap notes carefully. “Everything okay?”

Barnes thinks about just saying “Yes,” but he’s never been able to hide anything from Steve, and Cap seems to be able to see through him, too. Besides, he’s trying to get Cap to trust him. He stops the wheelchair near one of the benches in the corner where the lockers are and sits down so he can face Cap. 

“Everything’s fine. I just hate what you’ve been through. It sucks. I wish I could do something to make it better.”

“Appreciate that.”

“And the thing is, I’m wondering if— There’s something that maybe… but it might be too much. It’s something we decided to wait to show you. One of the things that might freak you out. And I really do just wanna help. So I’m not sure—"

“What is it?”

“It’s— Listen, let me check something, will ya’?”

Cap squints suspiciously at Barnes, but doesn’t say anything. Barnes pulls out his phone and pushes a button on the side to turn the sound all the way down. Then, keeping the screen toward him so that Cap can't see who he's calling, he touches a button before putting it to his ear. 

Bucky answers on the first ring. “Something happen?”

“Not exactly,” Barnes says, looking at Cap. “It’s just… he’s kind of… well, he’s feeling like you would if your team did to you what his did to him. And it’s—”

“Is he okay?”

Barnes warms a little at the concern in Bucky’s voice. He gets it. “Physically. But he’s really hurting. Those Avengers…”

Cap looks troubled. He’s staring at Barnes with vague but growing distress in his eyes. 

Barnes continues, “And he said that, if someone had offered him the chance to trade all of his Avengers for seeing his Bucky again, he mighta considered making that deal.”

There’s silence for a moment while Barnes hopes Bucky hears the question he’s asking. When Bucky doesn’t say anything after a while, Barnes says, “So I was thinkin’, maybe… But I don’t know. He’s another version of Steve, and… I don’t know how clear I’m thinkin’ on this.”

There’s another short pause and the sound on the phone changes. Then Barnes hears Bucky repeating what he just said, and realizes Bucky’s put him on speaker and is talking to Marya. 

“What do you think?” he says, when he’s finished summarizing what Barnes has said.

“I think perhaps— Captain Barnes?”

“Yeah?”

“Does he seem stable? He is not weak or dizzy or in physical pain?”

“I think he’s stable.”

Cap makes a face and says, “If you’re talking about me, I’m as stable as you are.”

Barnes can’t help but grin at that. “He says he’s as stable as I am.”

“Yes,” Marya’s voice says, “He is Captain Rogers. Of course he says that. How is his color?”

“It’s fine.”

“Then, I think perhaps you might talk to him about Sergeant Barnes. Come around to it gently, and if he begins to seem troubled, then don’t tell him anything else yet. I do not think it is a good idea to simply have the Sergeant appear.”

“No, I agree. I wasn’t suggestin’ that. Hey, Bu- buddy, what do you think of that idea?”

“I’m game. I can only imagine what he must be feeling. Is it as bad as I’m imagining?”

“Yeah,” Barnes confirms, looking empathetically at Cap. “Yeah, I think it is.”

“Then do it. Fuck those Avengers. If he woulda traded all of them for just one of us, I’m all for givin’ him two.”

“All right,” Barnes says. He’s well aware that he’s agreeing so quickly because it’s what he _wants_ to do. But it feels right. Even if it is a shock, it should be a good shock. Maybe it will give Cap the strength to keep from being destroyed by his Avengers’ betrayal. “I’ll call you.”

With that, he touches the screen to end the call and looks up at Cap.

“What the hell was that?” Cap asks sharply.

“Like I said, there’s something we were gonna wait to show you, but I thought maybe it might help to know about it now. I needed to check with a friend of mine, see if he thought it was a good idea.”

“And?”

“And, it was suggested that maybe I oughtta tell you a little about it first. Sort of ease you into it.” 

“I told you, I don’t like secrets.”

“And _I_ told _you_ , we’re just tryin’ not to freak you out. Just try to trust me. Please.”

“Fine,” Cap huffs. “What is it?”

“You wanna maybe go somewhere else? We could go to the residential floors, have a beer. Or we could go back to your room, that way you could get back in bed when you want?”

Cap thinks about that for a moment, which Barnes takes as a good sign. But he does not think it’s a good sign that Cap says, “Maybe back to the medical floor.” 

Steve would have to be in pretty bad shape to admit it, even tacitly. 

“You got it. And you can kick me out anytime you want.”

On the elevator, Cap asks again, “So what is this thing you wanna tell me about instead of just showing me? Does it have something to do with Bucky?”

“Indirectly, yeah.” Barnes thinks carefully about what to say. “The multiverses, they sort of parallel each other. You’ve already seen how they’re the same, but with differences.”

“Yeah, so?”

“So, um… A lot of the same people exist in each one. At least, the ones we know about. Like, there was a Steve Rogers in this universe, and there was a Steve Rogers in the universe Marya came from, too.”

“Is he dead, too?”

“No, he’s alive. Old as dirt, but alive.”

“Old… What, he didn’t get frozen?”

“He did, but… Look, let’s try to keep it simple, okay?”

The elevator doors open onto the medical floor, where Dr. Fabian has been impatiently waiting for Barnes to return Cap to his room. Barnes has to cool his heels for the next half hour while the doctor examines Cap and gives orders for him to be helped back into bed, over his protests. He’s finally settled and, after Dr. Fabian gives Cap another dose of pain medication he badly needs but tries to refuse, Barnes is allowed back into the room. He gets a stern lecture about Cap needing rest more than visitors, and promises not to wear him out.

Barnes goes back to the chair in the corner, but moves it closer to the bed. “You look wiped. Maybe we should continue this in the morning?”

“It’s just all the bustling,” Cap says impatiently. “I’m fine. I wanna know what this big surprise is you’re trying to prepare me for. You were saying how there’s one of me in every universe?”

“Yeah. One of most of us, it seems like. Their lives go different, but they’re the same person.”

Cap’s squinting, trying hard to guess what Barnes is getting at. “Okay…”

“And, you know, you and Marya, you both came here from different universes. There’s probably a Marya from this universe, but there was no Hydra to kidnap her as a child and make her a supersoldier, so she probably just grew up, has a normal life.”

“What’s this have to do with Buck—” Cap’s eyes go wide. “Holy shit. Other Buckys.”

“Well, yeah, it stands to reason there would be other Buckys, other James Barneses, one in each universe.”

“You said you had something to show me. There’s one here, isn’t there? That’s what you meant when you said that stuff on the phone— You were talking to him, weren’t you? This other Bucky.” 

“Look, I didn’t say that, I’m just—”

“Yes or no, Barnes. Is there another Bucky here? Is that what you’re trying to tell me?”

“You know, you do that steamroller thing just like Steve did. It’s really rude.”

“That’s what Marya and Tony were talking about,” Cap says to himself. “Tony said they were collecting broken supersoldiers from other universes, and Marya said he was talking about her and Sergeant Barnes. Then when you came, I forgot all about it. I was so busy trying to take everything in.” Cap spears Barnes with a look. “You’re telling me that there are two James Barneses in this universe?”

Barnes realizes what a lousy job he did of preparing Cap for this but, fortunately, he seems to have guessed correctly that it would be welcome news. So he simply acknowledges it. “Yes. You’ll be happy to know the other one _will_ let you call him Bucky.”

“How? Where is he? Is he— Oh, shit, please tell me there’s not a good Bucky and an evil Bucky, I can’t—"

“Oh, for fuck’s sake, Rogers, stop freakin’ yourself out with that science fiction crap. He’s not evil, just an annoying asshole with bad hair. He’s part of the Avengers Initiative, been vetted from here to hell and back. He’s all right. From what I hear, you got all the evil Avengers in your universe.”

Cap’s face registers the pain of that remark, and Bucky sighs. “Sorry. That was shitty.”

“It was the truth. Gonna have to learn to live with it. So I got evil Avengers and you got good Marya. Guess I’m through the damn looking glass now.”

Barnes leans back in his chair. “Just don’t forget, this is the safe side of the looking glass.”

“And the side with two Buckys.”

“No. There's only one Bucky,” Barnes grins. “I'm Jim.”

Cap lays back heavily on his pillows. He spends a minute just looking up at the ceiling, and Barnes gives him time to let this news sink in. Cap’s hooked back up to the monitors, which have to be showing how worked up he is right now, so Barnes half expects Dr. Fabian to come in and make him leave. It’s a while before Cap looks back at him.

“You said you were gonna show me,” he says. “So show me.”

“You sure?”

“Of course I’m sure. Quit acting like you still gotta protect me. I already had Marya walk into this room. A second Bucky will at least be a good surprise.”

“Give her a break. I told you, Marya’s a member of my team.”

“In my universe, she’s the Fist of Hydra.”

“Well, in this one, she’s an Avenger, and I’d suggest you get to know her, because I’m not sure callin’ her the Fist of Hydra would be too healthy for you.”

“Yeah, not if she’s anything like the one I know. And she seems to be pretty close with Stark.”

“She’s also Bucky’s wife.”

“Bucky is married? Bucky is married to _Marya_?”

“What the hell,” Barnes says, mostly to himself. Might as well give this poor fuck all the shocks, now that he’s given him most of them already. “Yeah. Bucky and Marya came from the same universe. I’ll let them tell you the whole story, but I’ll warn you, Bucky came here to find Marya after his Steve left him. He’s got some pretty complicated feelings about Steve Rogers. And here’s another shocker, since I’ve already fucked up the whole ‘giving it to you gradually’ thing. In his universe, _he_ was the Fist of Hydra.”

“ _Bucky_?”

“Yeah. Bucky. But lemme assure you, it was anything but voluntary. You can’t possibly hate Hydra as much as Bucky and Marya do.”

“This is all so bizarre.”

“Yeah, sorry. I wasn’t supposed to tell you any of it. Doc Fabian’s gonna have my balls. I’m surprised he’s not already in here tryin’ to toss me out.”

“How many other shocks am I gonna get here?” Steve asks wearily.

“Probably a few. But for what it’s worth, that’s it for the ones we know about.”

“That’s something, at least.”

“So how about we save the reunion with Bucky for tomorrow? You already met me, and I’m by far the superior James Barnes. How about you just relax for tonight, get used to the idea that there are two of us. And, you know, prepare yourself for disappointment.”

Cap smiles at that, but he’s already shaking his head. “I’m Steve Rogers, remember? Patience isn’t my strong suit. I want to meet him.”

“I knew you were gonna say that,” Bucky says from the doorway.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let me know what you think! Please comment, or come say hi on Tumblr.


	24. Day Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cap meets Bucky, which goes better than Bucky was expecting. Things go worse than expected when he and Barnes run into Sam upon returning to the residential floors, but at least it gives Barnes the chance to talk to Sam about Cap. The next day, Barnes goes to Cap's hospital room to find Bucky already there, and the two of them laughing at old memories. He's not very happy about the way that affects him. Barnes and Bucky take Cap to show him the training facility and, well... wackiness ensues. Tony is not amused to find that Cap's no more of an adult than they are.

At first, Bucky looks like he’s showing up for a dental appointment or something equally dreaded but necessary. He doesn’t want to be here. He feels a _need_ to be here. But he doesn’t want to. 

A funny thing happens, though, when Bucky and Cap see one another. With his long hair and beard, Cap looks very much like Bucky’s Steve did that day he was transported to the past with no intention of returning. Bucky expected to feel some sort of overwhelming emotion: deep anger, intense longing, or maybe a combination of those. Instead, he just feels the gladness of seeing an old friend after a long absence. Bucky doesn’t know what he’ll feel when the newness wears off. But for now, it’s… okay.

It helps that Cap stares at him, open-mouthed, for so long that Bucky has to crack a smile. He begins to laugh, and pretty soon Barnes snickers a little, too. 

“I know,” Barnes says to Cap. “On behalf of the Avengers Initiative, I apologize for his hair. It’s terrible. But he refuses to do anything about it. Believe it or not, it was actually _worse_ when he got here.”

Bucky stands in the doorway, smiling at Cap now, and pretending to ignore Barnes. “Nice to meet you, Cap. I can only imagine what the you from this universe was like, if _this,_ ” he tosses his head toward Barnes, “is as good as they could do with me.”

Cap is now looking from Bucky to Barnes, and back. “This is… weird.”

“One of us is, anyway,” Barnes mutters.

“So you’re… the three of us are from three different universes?” Cap asks, clearly struggling to get used to the idea.

“Wild, huh?” Bucky answers. 

“It’s definitely gonna take some getting used to.”

Bucky nods. “It does. But don’t worry, it gets easier.”

“And you… they call you Bucky, right?”

“That’s right. Least that part’ll be easy for you.”

“Do you wanna have a seat, Bucky?” Cap’s speech is quiet and careful as he works to make sense of what he’s seeing. 

“Doc Fabian caught me on the way in, says he’s only givin’ us five minutes before he throws us out so you can rest. I really just came down to say hello.” Bucky’s demeanor gets more serious. “I know what happened, what your team did. Me and Barnes thought maybe it might help, somehow, to know about both of us. We’re not your Bucky, and you’re not our Steve. Steves,” he corrects himself, making a face. “But we are the same people. Your Bucky was entirely loyal to you, right?”

“Absolutely.”

“Well, Barnes and I were both that loyal to our Steves, too.”

“Stark likes to say ‘tragically loyal,’ just to be an ass. But he’s not wrong,” Barnes adds.

“I don’t think either one of us is capable of anything less than that loyalty to you, either. Because you’re Steve,” Bucky concludes. “For what that’s worth.”

“You practice that?” Barnes asks in an aside to Bucky.

“Fuck you,” Bucky grumbles quietly back, without taking his eyes from Cap.

Grinning at them as they carp at each other, Cap says, “Thank you for saying that, uh, Bucky. It helps. I mean, your Tony and Bruce have been great, but it’s still— I mean, they’re still—”

“Yeah,” Barnes says. “Alternate versions of your Avengers. We get it that you wouldn’t be comfortable around them right now. That’s why you haven’t met the rest of our team yet. We thought maybe that oughtta wait a bit. But since your Bucky wasn’t part of what happened, we thought it might be easier to have us around.”

Cap nods slowly. “That makes sense. I gotta say, it is bizarre how much like Bucky you are. Both of you.”

“And two of us probably makes it worse.”

“You know, that part’s not so bad. It’s no different than being around identical twins.” 

Barnes gives a short laugh. “I think you just insulted my mother, but I’ll let it slide because you got a head injury.”

“Yes, he does,” Dr. Fabian says from the hall, where he’s standing behind Bucky. “Which is why you two need to leave Captain Rogers alone now to rest.”

He steps around Bucky into the room and begins to do his best to herd them out. 

“Thank you,” Cap says earnestly. “It really is good to see— well, to meet you both. I’m glad you told me about Bucky, Jim. It was the right decision.”

“Glad to hear it,” Barnes says, getting up from his chair. “Get some sleep.”

Bucky calls, “’Night. Good to meet you, too,” before stepping into the hall.

“We’ll see you tomorrow, Cap,” one of them says as they leave, but because Dr. Fabian steps between him and the door, Cap’s not sure which one. 

As Barnes and Bucky are climbing the stairs to the residential floors, Barnes says, “So?”

Bucky takes a moment to answer. “He’s Steve, all right.”

They climb the next couple of floors in silence before Bucky goes on, “I thought it would affect me more. Like, I’d feel some big swell of… somethin’. ‘Wasn’t like that.”

“Maybe that’s comin’.”

“Guess we’ll see. Anyway, I don’t feel the need to destroy anything.”

“Weird that it affected us so different.”

“It is. You suppose that’s because me and Steve broke up? Or maybe because of Marya?”

“Hell if I know. Could be either one.”

“Whatever it is, I hope it’s permanent. I ain’t lookin’ to get all fucked up by Steve Rogers again. I’ll be perfectly happy to just be glad to see him.”

Bucky opens the door from the stairway to the floor where the Common Room and kitchen are, throwing it wide for Barnes to come through behind him. “What about you?” he asks Barnes. 

Barnes shrugs. “I dunno. I’m all right, I guess.”

They’re both heading to the kitchen looking for a beer. They so frequently have the same impulses that it no longer surprises them. When they reach the large, open room, Sam Wilson is there scooping ice cream into a bowl.

“Thing one. Thing two,” he greets Barnes and Bucky drily.

“Hey, Sam,” they chorus, not rising to the bait because not reacting is the surest way to annoy him. 

“You oughtta talk to Sam,” Bucky says to Barnes as he lifts Sam’s spoon from the counter and takes a bite of his ice cream.

“Hey!” Sam screeches, and Bucky simply laughs and puts the spoon back down. 

Barnes pulls two beers out of one of the refrigerators and tosses one to Bucky. They both use their metal hands to pinch the caps off. 

“Talk to me about our new guest, you mean?” Sam asks.

“Yeah,” Bucky responds. “It didn’t seem to bother me much to see him, but it really got to him.”

“I heard what you did to the training course. So that was about him? You think we should—” Sam stops abruptly. His eyes narrow as he points to Barnes and Bucky alternately with the ice cream scoop in his hand. “Oh, no. Oh, _hell_ no. Tell me you did not both go down there when we specifically and _as a team_ decided that was a bad idea.”

“I changed my mind,” Barnes shrugs before taking a large gulp of beer. “It worked out good.”

“We _talked_ about this! We made a damn _plan!_ I was specifically included as part of the ‘we’ who talked about this because I am the one who’s experienced in counseling soldiers who’ve been through trauma! So you just _changed your mind_ and went ahead without bothering to consult me? Or anyone else?” Sam’s voice is getting progressively louder and more shrill as he continues.

“I did consult with someone. Him.” Barnes indicates Bucky with his beer.

“Yeah. And we have experience _bein’_ soldiers who have been through trauma,” Bucky grins.

“This is why I keep my hair short,” Sam growls. “Because between the lot of you, I’d pull it the hell out if I could get a good enough grip.” 

“Relax, Sam, it went great. He wasn’t freaked out, and he even said it was the right decision.”

“He has a head injury! And he said it _after_ you’d already done it! You took a ludicrously irresponsible chance. It could’ve gone very, very badly. It could still backfire. You two fucking idiots—”

“Chill, Sam. You haven’t met him. He’s okay. And I didn’t just _spring_ Bucky on him. I led into the subject gradually, and he seemed okay, and then he guessed. Once he did, he practically demanded to meet him. He’s Steve Rogers, Sam. Talk about taking ludicrously irresponsible chances—”

“You know what? Just shut up, both of you. Don’t even.” Sam puts the bucket of ice cream back into the freezer as he rages. “It was dangerous as hell, what you did. I don’t think you even realize how dangerous. You just better hope he’s okay.”

“Relax, Sam, we didn’t break Steve-from-another-universe,” Bucky says. “We’re calling him Cap, by the way.”

“Don’t try to change the subject. I am seriously pissed at you.”

“Well, be pissed while you listen, because Barnes needs to talk about Cap. I’m goin’ upstairs.” With that, Bucky heads out of the kitchen.

“Tweedledumbass and Tweedledumbfuck,” Sam mutters as he takes a spoonful of ice cream. “I hate you both.”

“Hate you, too, Sam,” Barnes says sweetly and kisses him wetly on the side of his head. 

Wiping his hand across the area Barnes has just kissed, Sam lets out an outraged yell as he tries hard not to smile. He ends up having to put another spoonful of ice cream in his mouth to avoid doing it.

Barnes slouches into a chair at the huge dining table that occupies a whole side of the kitchen, stretching his legs out in front of him. Just from seeing him do it, Sam knows that Barnes really does need to talk. Most of the time, it’s like pulling teeth to get Barnes to even admit there’s something to talk _about_ , so Sam takes his ice cream to the other side of the table and sits down across from him. He doesn’t say anything, just begins to enjoy his ice cream, with frequent looks at Barnes that invite, but don’t demand, conversation.

Barnes finishes his beer and gets up for another before he says anything. As he sits down again, he slams the cap from the beer down onto the table with a hissed curse. Sam raises an eyebrow just enough to let Barnes know he’s paying attention.

“That’s it, Sam. That’s all I have to say. I’m pissed as hell and I got no idea why. Or who or what I’m pissed at.”

“So not at him? Steve?”

“He ain’t Steve,” Barnes barks, with a narrow-eyed glare at Sam. “He’s some guy I never met before today. That’s why I’m callin’ him Cap.”

“Makes sense,” Sam shrugs. 

There’s a long silence then, while Sam eats and Barnes drinks. One of the things Barnes really likes about Sam is that he doesn’t feel the need to yak all the time, and even when he’s in counselor mode, he doesn’t try to make Barnes talk. 

Several quiet minutes later, Barnes mutters, “You’re gonna get fat eatin’ that much ice cream. Tony’ll need to turbocharge your wings.”

“Says the dude who eats a quart at a time. Anyway, you know Tony. He wants to turbocharge ‘em anyway. He’d be jazzed if I gave him a reason.”

Barnes grins and nods, acknowledging that Sam’s right. After another, shorter silence, he says quietly, “He looks great. Got long hair and a beard.”

Sam doesn’t miss a beat. He knows Barnes is talking about Cap. “What, long like Bucky’s hair?”

“Nah, not that long, just… way longer than Steve ever wore his.”

“Hot, huh?”

Barnes grunts affirmatively and takes a drink of his beer.

“See, now, that’d piss me off.”

“What?”

“Just the whole thing. Say I was married and my wife died, and then some other chick came around callin’ herself my wife’s name and had the nerve to look better than her.”

“I didn’t say he looked better.”

“Yeah, okay, you didn’t say better. But he looks good. That’s bad enough.”

“I guess. I just don’t know why all I wanna do is punch everything. I mean, so what if he looks like Steve? I know he isn’t _._ He’s actually pretty different from Steve. Looks different, like I said, but he’s had a whole different life. Grew up in the ‘30s and ‘40s. Frozen for seventy years. And the whole thing with Hydra. He’s—” Barnes gets a faraway look that tells Sam he’s realized something.

“He’s—” Sam prods.

“He’s had the same life Bucky’s Steve did. And I just realized, he reminds me of Bucky. They both got a certain edge to ‘em. Wouldn’t wanna see either of them on the other side of a fight. But it’s more than that. They both… I don’t know, I can’t describe it. I guess they’ve both been through shit we haven’t, and it shows. That make any sense?”

“Sure. How’s that make you feel, that Cap and Bucky have that history in common?”

Barnes levels a glare at Sam. “I am not jealous, Sam. Don’t be such a shrink.”

“’Kay,” Sam smiles. “Then how _do_ you feel about it?”

Barnes squints, thinking. “I dunno. Relieved, on some level, I think. ‘Cause he’s really not my Steve. I think if he had the same history as Steve, if he felt more like him, it’d be worse.”

“So he doesn’t feel like Steve to you?”

“No, I told you. He’s… _harder_ than Steve was. Not tougher, but… _meaner_ , I guess.”

“Well put. I’ll have to see Cap for myself to see it, but I think I hear you, because that’s the way I’d describe the difference between you and Bucky. To me, you actually look meaner, but he _is_ meaner. And yeah. I’ve always put that down to what he’s been through.”

Another silence descends, and Barnes puts his now-empty bottle on the table and begins to turn it around and around, mechanically, while he thinks. “Why would that piss me off, though?” he finally asks.

“Dunno. Maybe no reason. Maybe it just _does._ Or maybe that’s not it.”

“Well, that’s fucking helpful, Dr. Freud. Thanks for that.”

“Hey, I never said I had the answers. I just help _you_ find ‘em.”

“Well, all I can say is, even as much of a pain in the ass as you are, I wish he’d have been you, or Nat, or anyone else but Steve.”

“Because…”

“Because I fucking buried Steve!” Barnes spits, going from zero to furious in an instant. “Because I’ve been there, done that, and I got no desire to go back, that’s why! Fuck, Sam!”

Sam scrapes the last of his ice cream from the sides of his bowl with a crooked grin while Barnes fumes. Then, seeing Sam’s expression, Barnes re-thinks the words that just exploded from him. Sighing from somewhere deep inside, he slumps back against his chair and lets himself slide down so his legs are even further out in front of him, all the sudden anger evaporating as understanding dawns on him. “Shit.”

Sam gets up to wash out his bowl, just letting Barnes think. 

After a full minute, Barnes says quietly, “You know, I never thought killing The Mandarin was gonna fix anything. I mean, short of gettin’ Steve back, nothing’s gonna do that. But I thought at least—” Barnes’s voice drops off and he shakes his head slowly. “I had a nightmare about Steve last night. Again. Still. That ever gonna stop?”

As Sam sits back down, now with his own beer and a fresh one for Barnes, he says, “Maybe. No promises.”

“Sometimes I really wish alcohol still worked on me,” Barnes mutters as he opens their beers with his metal hand. Sam nods and they clink bottles before drinking.

“So. You had a best friend since you were a little kid, and you guys fell in love, got married. He was your other half, and then he died and you had to deal with that. You grieved, and you figured out how to keep on living, ‘cause you didn’t have a choice. You even got the chance to kill the guy who killed the man you loved, put a bit of a period on that sentence. Now this Cap guy shows up and he’s a walking, talking reminder of all you've been through, kicks it all up again. I can see why you’d have a problem with that.”

“So why don’t I hate him? Why don’t I wanna send him packing right back to some other universe? _Any_ other universe? I’m not bullshitting, Sam, I really don’t feel like it’s him I’m so pissed at.”

“Look, feelings are just feelings, Barnes, they don’t hafta be logical. Besides, he’s beat up and he’s not messing with you on purpose. He can’t help being who he is. Maybe you’re just a good guy. You’re mad at the situation, not him. Maybe your heart just gets that.”

Barnes shrugs. He’s taking it in and turning it around in his mind, like he always does. Sam knows he won’t say anything until he’s ready. “I dunno. Maybe.”

He straightens up in his chair and slaps his hands on his knees with a deep exhale. “Anyway, I’m goin’ upstairs. Had enough for one day. Thanks for listenin’.”

“Anytime. You know that.”

“Yeah. I do.” Barnes claps Sam heavily on the shoulder. “For a complete pain in the ass, you’re all right.”

“Awww, that’s what my Mama always says,” Sam smiles.

* * *

The next day, Barnes takes the time for a grueling workout with Clint and Sam before going down to the medical floor to see Cap. When he finally makes it there mid-morning, there’s loud laughter coming from Cap’s room and, upon entering, he finds Cap sitting up in a chair, fully dressed and talking easily with Bucky. 

“My Dum Dum was _exactly_ like that! I’d get so mad at him pullin’ that shit, but it was so damn funny it was almost impossible not to laugh while I chewed him out.”

“He knew that, you know. That’s why he never stopped. He knew where the line was, and he never crossed it, but he sure as hell loved to dance on it.”

More laughter erupts from them. Cap no longer has any IVs, and the chest tube is gone. He already looks almost normal except for the faded bruises and near-healed cuts and abrasions on most of the skin Barnes can see. Cap and Bucky notice Barnes standing in the doorway.

“Sounds like I interrupted a trip down memory lane,” Barnes says in greeting.

“’Morning, Jim. C’mon in,” Cap grins.

“Well, I don’t wanna interrupt—”

“Shut up,” Bucky tells him nonchalantly. “We’ve kinda been waitin’ on you. Cap can walk now, so we thought maybe we’d show him the training facility. His Avengers don’t have that.”

“Yeah,” Cap affirms. “You guys got all the fun toys.”

Barnes gets a complicated look on his face and says, “Well, there isn’t a course set up right now.” He looks at Cap. “I kinda got a little carried away on the last one.”

Bucky gives him a bit of a teasing laugh, but doesn’t say anything about the reason for the destruction. “I was thinkin’ that’s actually fine, ‘cause it’ll let Cap see some stuff he wouldn’t normally get to.”

“We’ll have to take a car. Doubt Cap’s up to ridin’ a motorcycle yet.”

Cap nods with a regretful look. 

“That’s okay, too,” Bucky tells Barnes. “Pepper could use a break. She’s barely speakin’ to us right now; I don’t think she wants to see us on our bikes for a while.”

Cap looks confused, and Bucky cheerfully explains about their motorcycle race the day before while Barnes arranges to borrow one of the fleet of vehicles available to members of the Avengers Initiative. He also takes the opportunity to text the others to make sure Cap won’t accidentally meet any of them at the training facility. Even though he stands by his decision to tell Cap about Bucky, he still agrees that Cap’s not quite ready for those meetings.

There’s a weird undercurrent to his feelings as he watches Cap react to Bucky’s story of their bike race through New York City. Cap often looks over at Barnes, his face alight as he apparently enjoys the story, and he’s troubled by the way it feels to have Cap look at him like that. It troubles him even more to see the easy camaraderie that’s already developed (or re-developed, if you ignore the different universes part) between Cap and Bucky. Shit. Sam might’ve been right. Barnes might be jealous. Of a guy that is, essentially, himself. How fucked up is that?

When Bucky finishes the story, he looks up at Barnes. “We good to go?”

“Yeah. Should be a car waitin’ for us.”

Cap winces and grunts a little as he stands, but he seems all right on his feet. He’s supposed to be using crutches on the leg that was casted yesterday, but he insists that if the bone’s healed enough for the cast to be off already, it’s healed enough to walk on. Which doesn’t surprise Barnes one bit. No one had ever been able to get Steve to use crutches, either. (He ignores the fact that he also refuses to use them. That’s not the point.)

Cap limps, though, and he’s moving very gingerly. 

“I’m bringin’ a wheelchair,” Barnes announces.

“I don’t need—”

“I’m bringin’ a wheelchair,” Barnes repeats and, different universes or not, the subject is closed. 

Bucky smirks. “Man, I’m a mother hen.”

“Got that right,” Cap confirms as they walk out into the hallway.

“You won’t need to go find one,” Bucky tells Barnes. “I already put one by the elevator. I wasn’t even gonna mention it, I was just gonna do it.”

Cap groans. “I guess I just found the first bad thing about having two Buckys in my life.”

“Suck it up,” one of them growls.

“Deal with it,” the other mutters at the same time.

They reach the elevator door where, indeed, a wheelchair is waiting. “I am so screwed,” Cap mutters. Although he means it, he’s also fighting a grin.

Cap’s reactions to the training facility make it great fun for Barnes and Bucky to show it to him. A bit too much fun, because by the time they’re done showing off and demonstrating things just to impress him, the ruins of Clint and Natasha’s training course are on fire again. 

It happened sort of organically, in that Cap asked a question about something and Barnes decided to demonstrate. Which, of course, led Bucky to demonstrate something else, which led to a rubber bullet battle among the scorched remains of the course, which Cap joined when Barnes tossed him a weapon and asked for backup while Bucky climbed the outside of one of the buildings. It escalated quickly from there until Barnes had driven an SUV into one of the previously-undamaged structures where Bucky was hiding. Nobody _meant_ for the damn place to ignite. And, of course, Bucky couldn't just let that go without ramming the SUV with an old pickup, simply on principle.

There’s a great deal of gleeful shouted insults and laughter until Tony Stark’s angry voice roars out from somewhere behind Cap, who's been sensibly hunkered down most of the time taking shots when he could.

“Are you fucking kidding me? It’s not enough to reduce my stuff to rubble, you also gotta see the rubble _burn_? What is _wrong_ with you two?” 

Three surprised faces turn to see Tony striding down a simulated street toward them, face contorted with fury. He seems a little taken aback to see Cap’s head pop out from behind a smoking vehicle and, when he does, he rolls his eyes with his whole body and throws his arms up in despair. “Of course. Of course you couldn’t be reasonable like our Cap. You’re killin’ me here. ALL THREE OF YOU STAND DOWN AND GET YOUR ASSES OVER HERE!”

Tony has to endure a moment where the three miscreants look at each other with undisguised temptation before Barnes uncocks the pistol he’s holding and says, “He’s the boss.” Then, as the other two come out from their positions, Barnes looks around. “And you, Jarvis, are a damn blabbermouth.”

“I am sorry, Captain Barnes, but I have my orders,” comes Jarvis’s smooth, cultured voice. “I was concerned for Captain Rogers’s recovery.”

“Don’t you blame my AI for your own dumbassery, Barnes. Shame on you,” Tony snarls. He’s not happy to see how amused all three of those unmanageable assholes are at that.

When they’re all standing in front of him, not the least bit repentant, but at least quiet and prepared for a lecture, Tony gets the upper hand by speaking in a quiet, controlled voice. “Thor needs to meet. He says Cap’s universe is heating up and he needs to know what you want to do, Cap. Plus, he needs to get back to Asgard. Like other responsible adults, he’s got shit to do.”

“What shit?” Bucky asks, mostly just to annoy Tony.

“I don’t know, Bucky, just god shit,” he sighs. “Let’s go.”

“Wait a minute,” Barnes says, frowning seriously now. “Aren’t we gonna need the whole team for this? Cap hasn’t had to deal with the others yet. That’s a lot to throw on him on top of a strategy session. C’mon, Tony, it’s day two for him.”

“Unlike you, Barnes, I am not an idiot. Right now, Thor just wants to let Cap know what’s up, and get some sense of how he wants him and the Warriors Three to handle it. It’ll just be the five of us.”

Tony turns to leave, but both Barnes and Bucky turn to Cap. 

“You okay with that?” Bucky asks.

“Oh, shit, this already sucks so hard,” Tony mutters to himself. “I forgot how damn protective you are of him. And now there are two of you.”

The others ignore him. Cap, predictably, lifts his chin and says, “Let’s go.”

At that, he begins to limp toward the door with Barnes and Bucky flanking him. Tony takes a moment to squeeze his eyes closed and pinch the bridge of his nose, shaking his head in anticipatory frustration. He'd wished a thousand times to have Steve Rogers back. This was _not_ what he had in mind. 

At all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, let me know what you think! I'd love to hear your comments. You can also come say hi on Tumblr!


	25. The Team

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thor reports back from Cap's Earth, and the news is not good. Cap meets the rest of the team. When he's released from Medical, the team has a celebration dinner, during which Barnes watches Bucky and Cap bonding and learning they've shared many of the same experiences.  
> He doesn't like it.

* * *

Cap rides in the wheelchair from the car to the conference room, where Thor is waiting impatiently. Cap sees Thor notice the wheelchair and, before he can ask, Cap tells him it’s only because Barnes and Bucky are overreacting and it’s just easier than arguing with them. Thor is well aware how near to death Cap was not forty-eight hours ago, but he generously pretends to believe him. The truth is, Cap is exhausted and in pain from participating in the shootout at the training facility. 

One of the nurses from Medical is waiting with pain medication, because either Barnes or Bucky has texted ahead to arrange it. Cap gives them both a narrow-eyed glare as the nurse hands him the capsules and a glass of water, but he also accepts them. “Don’t tell me one of you isn’t responsible for this,” he growls at Barnes and Bucky. “You didn’t even ask me if I needed it.”

It’s creepy how identical their mock-irritated scoffs are. 

“If I needed to hear you lie about not being in pain, I’d just play back one of the million and six memories I already have,” Bucky mutters, before exchanging a hearty hug with Thor. “Good to see you, buddy,” he says.

“And you as well.” Thor then grabs Barnes in a similarly athletic embrace, which Barnes returns with a grin. 

“Not sure I’m gonna thank you for bringing us this asshole,” Barnes tells him, indicating Cap. “He’s no improvement on the last one.”

Thor’s smile dims. “I am sorry. I was not trying to bring you an improved replacement. But you had great love for this universe’s Steve Rogers, so I thought that you would at least be pleased.”

“I was making a joke, Thor. Lighten up.”

Everyone but Thor laughs. Thor, undaunted, approaches Cap once he’s finished taking the pain meds and the nurse is leaving the room. 

“I’m so pleased to see you looking so well, Captain Rogers. I would greet you with an embrace, but I do not wish to cause you pain.”

Cap stands and takes a step toward Thor, grasping one massive bicep and giving the other a few manly slaps before speaking. It doesn’t escape either Bucky or Barnes that he doesn’t submit himself to a hug, again giving the lie to his previous insinuation that he wasn’t in pain.

“I’m doing fine, thanks to you. You’ve saved my life once again, Thor. How many times is that now?”

“I have not kept count. Brothers in arms always come to one another’s aid.”

“Not always,” Cap mutters.

Thor bows his head in understanding. “Yes. Let us speak of the situation on your Midgard. I require your counsel.”

As the others shuffle to take seats around the gleaming conference room table, Tony makes a whimpering sound and holds his arms out from his side. “Where’s my hug?” he asks Thor with faux injured sadness.

Thor, rather than making some snarky comment as anyone else in the room would have, strides toward Tony with purpose and hugs him so hard that a real whimper escapes him. “I am sorry, friend Tony! I thought, since we had just seen each other— But no matter.” 

Upon releasing him, Thor looks down at Tony with a wide, hopeful smile. “There. Is all well?”

“Yeah,” Tony barely squeaks out, rubbing at his chest. “We’re good.” 

It’s the last light moment for quite a while, because Thor has come to report on the situation on Cap’s Earth. 

“The attempt on your life was apparently the opening move of a planned takeover. Since you have been here, we have learned that Hydra forces were secretly deployed all over Midgard, and now they’ve declared themselves. They have threatened the government of every nation on your planet – their choices are submit to Hydra rule, or be destroyed.”

Cap clasps his head in both hands and lowers it to the conference room table, groaning. “Oh, no. It’s worse than we thought.”

“Indeed. I do not know the size of these Hydra forces yet. We are working to learn that. Nor do I know how the various nations will react. I thought you should know.”

“Yeah,” Cap sighs. “And SHIELD?”

“There is active fighting at SHIELD headquarters even now. The situation is dire. Most of your Avengers are there, fighting for control. Unless there are things I do not know about SHIELD’s defenses, they cannot withstand this attack. SHIELD will fall to Hydra.” Thor sounds as miserable as his words are obviously making Cap. 

“There are no secret defenses,” Cap confirms sadly. “SHIELD always thought it was impervious to attack. Hell, it probably was. But not from within. Not by the Avengers.” Cap raises his ashen face to look at Thor. “The Council thought something like this was unthinkable.”

“No longer, it seems. And now, Captain, I need to know what you would ask of New Asgard. King Brunnhilde has vowed to fight for your Midgard, and Hydra cannot conquer New Asgard. But we cannot fight them for your entire planet. Not alone.”

“Most nations will fight. Without knowing what kind of resources Hydra has, we can’t know what the result will be.” Cap slumps back in his chair. “They must’ve been planning this for years. My team… must’ve…” Cap’s voice dies as he realizes the scope of his Avengers’ betrayal and his expression becomes more distressed than any of them have ever seen on the face of Steve Rogers. “They’ve been lying to me for years. Maybe from the beginning, when I came out of the ice.”

“I am sorry, Captain. Truly. Would you have my advice?”

“Yes. Of course.”

Thor stands tall and speaks with authority. “Give us a few days to discover the size of Hydra’s forces, and what weapons they have. We will observe the responses of Midgard’s governments. Perhaps they will be successful in repelling this attempt to take over the planet. The situation is bad, but it may not be hopeless.”

“But you said SHIELD would fall to Hydra.”

“It will. So let us advise those loyal to you and to what SHIELD stands for to flee to safety. They can perhaps re-form, or be deployed to assist the various countries in resisting Hydra.”

“The various countries—” Cap repeats in a near-whisper. “But not America.”

“No, Captain. That which you fear has happened. When SHIELD falls, the United States will fall with it. Your Avengers assured that the United States would be one of the first countries to fall under Hydra’s control.”

Barnes rolls his chair over toward where Cap is trying hard to absorb this calamity. He puts a hand on Cap’s arm and looks at Thor. “I think that’s enough news for right now.” Barnes then turns to Cap and says quietly, “Say yes to what he’s suggesting. Let him and the Warriors Three do recon. Have them tell your friends to forget about SHIELD and get to safety. They can also spread the word that you’re not dead. They don’t tell anyone where you are, or anything else – just that you’re alive, and plannin' to stay that way. That’ll give your people some hope, and Hydra’ll be sweatin’ it out wondering when and where you’re gonna resurface. Meanwhile, we get enough information to help us decide what to do.”

“We? Us?” Cap asks, looking with a heartbreaking sliver of hope into Barnes’ eyes.

“You’re not alone if you don’t wanna be.”

There’s a moment of silent eye contact between them, during which Cap tries to make himself trust. Had the eyes he was looking into been any other than the clear blue-gray eyes of James Barnes, he wouldn’t have been able to do it. Even then, it’s nearly impossible; it’s as if he’s taking a step off a cliff with only Barnes’s word that he’s not about to plunge to his death. 

All Cap can do is nod slightly. He then looks up to Thor to ask in a surprisingly small voice, “How long?”

“Give me three days. They cannot solidify any power base in that time, and it will take us that long to assess their strength.”

Cap just nods again, afraid to trust his voice. At that, Thor strides from the room, already rushing to his tasks.  
  


* * *  
  


It’s a lousy three days. Cap wants nothing more than to be back in his universe, resisting the Avengers’ hideous betrayal with what’s left of SHIELD. But Barnes, Bucky, and Tony are able to convince him that the best thing he can do for his world is to rest and heal while Thor determines the situation so that they can make plans armed with information. 

Barnes and Bucky rarely leave Cap’s side, although they refuse to take him any further than the residential floors or let him do anything more strenuous than play sedentary games on Tony’s gaming system. To his credit, he sleeps as much as he can and answers honestly when his caregivers ask him to rate his pain. He does whatever Dr. Fabian tells him to do without (much) complaint. 

Not surprisingly, the subject of Cap meeting the rest of the Avengers Initiative comes up fairly quickly. If they’re going to help Cap and whatever forces he has left fight Hydra, it’s going to have to happen soon, which means they don’t have the luxury of waiting until he’s more prepared to see this universe’s version of the people he’d thought of as his family. Right up until they tried to kill him and then launched a takeover of his world with their (supposed) worst enemies.

Cap lets Tony and the team decide the order and manner in which he’ll meet the Avengers he hasn’t yet met. If it were up to him, he’d have simply done it all at once and had it over with, but he also really doesn’t mind letting himself be talked into taking it slow. He’s emotionally drained. He has the stamina to drag himself on indefinitely if he had to, but there’s no reason not to rest right now. Anyway, it’ll help him heal faster, and it hurts so much to heal as fast as he does that he wants that shit over with as soon as possible. 

The first new team member he meets is Sam. Sam’s a good choice, because of his counseling skills, not to mention his ability to remain low-key and upbeat in any situation. Cap’s also mentioned that Sam was his closest friend among his Avengers. 

Which is why it turns out to be a mistake. 

Cap spends less than five minutes with Sam before the waves of grief pounding him become so strong he has to ask Sam to leave. Sam doesn’t immediately understand what’s happening, but he instinctively does the right thing, which is to leave Cap’s hospital room and send Bucky to him.

Sam expects Barnes to be upset that it’s Bucky he calls, rather than him. He’s right. Barnes doesn’t make a scene about it, but he makes just enough oblique comments to get the point across. 

As the group sits around the Common Room discussing the massive upcoming mission they may be asked to undertake, Barnes grumbles, “You coulda called me. I coulda dealt with it.”

Sam huffs a laugh. “You and Bucky are both shit with emotions. But it had to be one of you, and you said Bucky’s handlin’ Cap bein’ here a little better than you are right now.”

Barnes doesn’t answer. What he does is find a way to slide out of the Common Room as soon as he can do it without anyone noticing and commenting. He makes his way down to Medical and into Cap’s room.

Bucky and Cap aren’t talking when he gets there, just watching some old black and white movie. They seem interested enough, even if neither seems particularly enthusiastic. Barnes wonders whether they ever saw this movie in a theater with their counterparts in their respective universes, so he asks that question as he takes the second chair in Cap’s room. 

“We did,” Cap answers with a hint of nostalgia. “Buck had a real thing for Norma Shearer.”

“Still do,” Bucky grins lasciviously. “Well, I mean, I guess you’re talkin’ about your Bucky, but I did, too.” He makes a face. “How come this multiverse stuff wasn’t so confusing when it was just me and Barnes?”

Cap raises an eyebrow, giving Bucky an appraising look. “Tell me something. How many times did you see ‘Romeo and Juliet?’”

“Somewhere between a thousand and a million, I guess. I _love_ that movie!”

“You, too? My Bucky saw it so many times I refused to go with him after the fourth or fifth time. What _is_ it about that movie?” 

“Are you kidding? Norma Shearer and Leslie Howard? I used to have dreams about climbin’ that balcony and the three of us gettin’ it on in Juliet’s bedroom.”

Cap looks stunned. “I never thought of that. You don’t suppose that _my_ Bucky was into Leslie Howard, too?”

“Of course he was,” Bucky answers with a laugh.

Cap frowns. 

“You ever ask?” Barnes queries with a smirk.

Cap doesn’t smile back, and he doesn’t answer right away. He’s looking at the TV, but it’s fairly obvious he’s thinking, rather than really watching the movie. “Guess I mighta missed my chance,” he finally murmurs, and the others just give him understanding looks. It’s a sad thought.

The movie ends shortly after that. It’s not very late, and Bucky asks whether Cap wants them to stay. Predictably, he says he’ll be all right, but he doesn’t sound very convinced, and none of them believes him. 

“Go on,” Barnes tells Bucky. “I’ll hang out for a while.”

“I don’t need a babysitter,” Cap complains.

“Didn’t say you did. If you want me to fuck off, just ask.”

“That’s not it. I just meant no one needs to watch over me.”

“I wasn’t planning to. But if you wanna just chill, I got nothin’ better to do. You been through that video library of Stark’s? He’s got everything.”

Now Cap grins a little. “I did start working my way through episodes of that ‘Batman’ TV show from the sixties. They’re hilarious.”

“I’m out, then,” Bucky announces, standing up. “You need anything, Cap?”

“No, thanks. And Bucky?” There’s still a hesitation in Cap’s voice before he uses Bucky’s name, as though it feels wrong, like playacting or pretending. But when Bucky turns around, there’s genuine gratitude in Cap’s face as he says, “Thanks for coming down. It helped.”

Bucky just shrugs in acknowledgement and lopes out of the room, leaving Cap and Barnes alone. Barnes is still uncomfortable looking directly at Cap, so he’s looking somewhere in the neighborhood of the bedrail when he asks, “You and Bucky talk about meeting Sam? Heard that didn’t go so well.”

Cap sighs deeply, sinking his head into the mound of pillows behind him. “I can’t imagine what he must think of me.”

“Sam? He thinks you’re a guy whose best friends turned on him. I don’t know about yours, but our Sam doesn’t know how to look down on someone, especially not for bein’ messed up by something like that.”

Cap groans in the general direction of the ceiling, eyes closed. “I just… I looked at your Sam and all I could see was mine, the way he looked at me that night. All that hate. I didn’t even recognize him.”

Barnes says nothing, just leans back in his chair like he has all the time in the world. If it’ll help Cap to talk about this, he’ll make the time. It hurts him almost physically to see Cap in such pain. 

“He was my best friend,” Cap says, so quietly it’s almost buried in his deep exhale. “From the very beginning, we hit it off. He was so funny, and then when I saw the way he works with those veterans— I’d only known him a few days when Nat and I showed up at his door, with half the world looking to kill us. He didn’t ask any questions. Every time I needed him, he was just there, ready to help.” Cap looks over at Barnes with haunted eyes. “You think that was all an act? From the beginning?”

“Can’t tell you that, Cap. What I can tell you is that guy you’re describing? That’s Sam Wilson. He’s the best man I know, bar none. So if you’re askin’ me to guess, I’d say no. It wasn’t an act. He really was that guy, but somehow Hydra got to him.”

“I don’t know, Jim. The guy in that cage… I never saw that guy before. He came at me like he couldn’t wait to get his hands on me. There was no hesitation, and the look in his eyes—”

“Don’t do that to yourself, Steve. It can’t do any good. You’re just torturing yourself for nothing.” 

“I just wish I could understand _why._ ”Cap is very close to tears, his voice barely under control and his bright blue eyes awash.

“Would it make any difference?”

“I don’t know. Maybe.” He pulls a hand through his hair and groans. “What the hell kind of a chump am I when they tried to kill me and I’m still sitting here trying to find a way to forgive them?”

“Afraid that’s just who you are, pal,” Barnes answers with a half-hearted grin. “Loyal. Stubborn.”

Cap rolls his eyes and makes a sound of disgust. 

“Look, you’re just tryin’ to figure out how to make them still be who you thought they were, so the world’ll make sense.”

Cap nods. He grimaces and squeezes his eyes tightly closed, as if a particularly painful memory has flashed across his mind. 

“Hey, how ‘bout we turn on one of those episodes of ‘Batman,’ huh?” Barnes offers.

“Yeah. Yeah, let’s.”

During the first episode, they simply watch and laugh a little. Watching Cap from the corner of his eye, Barnes can see he’s really not seeing what he’s looking at, but he just waits. He figures if Cap wants to talk some more, he will. Then, while Barnes is cueing up the second episode, he does.

“Do you really think Bucky might’ve been into guys?” he asks softly.

Barnes shrugs and finishes setting up the next episode as he answers, “I dunno. There’s probably a universe where I’m straight. Maybe it’s yours.”

“I just… keep thinking that if I’d had a little more courage—”

“You are just determined to punish yourself for everything that’s ever happened, aren’t you?”

“No, I’m not trying to— I’m just thinking out loud here.”

“Look, you guys lived in a time when it wasn’t just courageous to come out, it was suicidal. Besides that, you didn’t have many people in your life, and he was your best friend. I think it was smart of you to keep your mouth shut, and if he was into guys, he made the same decision. Let it go, Steve. It’s not gonna change anything.”

Cap looks at Barnes, full-on, for so long that Barnes has to turn his head and look straight at Cap, too. “You know, that’s the third time you’ve called me Steve.”

Barnes blinks. “Is it?” He shrugs, but neither one of them know whether it’s genuine. “Guess I just forget to call you Cap sometimes.”

“Am I very different from him?” Cap asks, but he sees immediately that it’s a mistake. Barnes winces, and it takes him a long time to answer.

“Yeah, you are. As different as me and Bucky, I guess. We gonna watch this show, or what?”

“Yeah. Sure. Sorry if I overstepped.”

Barnes turns to the TV and rewinds back to the beginning of the episode. “It’s okay,” he mutters. “I just don’t talk about him much.”

“I kinda feel like I should apologize for being me. Or him, or whatever. It’s gotta be hard, me being here. Poking at a sore spot.”

“It does feel like that some, but it’s not your fault.”

Cap doesn’t push. They settle in and turn their attention to the TV. 

  
* * *

  
Somewhere in the next twelve hours, Natasha loses patience with the slow and gentle approach. The next morning, early, she simply walks into Cap’s hospital room.

“Hope you don’t mind, Cap, but I got tired of waiting around. And I figure if I freak you out, you can just throw me out like you did Sam.” She smiles that mysterious, amused half-smile, making it clear she won’t give fuck one if he does.

Cap looks a little horrified as he says, “I didn’t throw Sam out – is that what he thinks? I tried to be polite about it—”

“Relax, Rogers, I’m sure you’re as annoyingly polite as our Steve Rogers. Which you kind of don’t have to be with me. If you start to lose it, just tell me to go. Deal?”

“Deal. And thank you.”

She raises one perfectly-shaped eyebrow as she pulls a chair next to his bed and sits lightly down. “For what?”

“For not being careful with me. I’m a little sick of being treated like I’m gonna dissolve into hysterics any minute.”

“Well, you don’t have to worry about that with me. I can do tact and finesse when I have to, but in real life, they’re just so much bullshit. In fact, why don’t you just tell me about your universe’s me. Let’s just put it out there. I hear she went at you with knives.”

Cap lays his head back on his pillow and laughs out loud. It’s the half-desperate laughter of someone processing fresh grief, but it works as well as crying to purge some of the sea of emotions he’s trying to manage. His smile is wide and real as he says, “I think we’re gonna do just fine.”

After that, meeting Clint a few days later is easy. Especially because the Clint from Cap’s universe is somewhat of a morose douche, and this Clint is chill. He, too, just asks Cap to tell him how Cap ended up with so many arrows in him, but unlike Natasha, he’s furious when he hears about it. Natasha had coolly dismissed her evil counterpart by saying, “Sounds like a bitch who needs to die.” Clint, however, hisses a creative and heartfelt string of curses every time Cap stops to take a breath during his description of the attack. 

Bruce Banner, who’s present while it’s occurring, keeps looking as if he’s going to drag Clint bodily from the room. Bruce wouldn’t understand why Clint’s anger is so soothing any more than Cap can explain it, but it is. Bruce has assured Cap that telling the story of a traumatic event is therapeutic, and Cap’s told the story several times now, but it’s not until he tells Clint that it actually _feels_ therapeutic. Clint’s genuinely incensed at the betrayal, and his explosive expression of that anger seems to bleed some of Cap’s off, too. 

“Man, I hope I get a shot at that guy. I don’t give a fuck what Hydra promised him or threatened to do, nothin’ justifies what he did, Cap.”

“Well, to be fair, we don’t know what they did. Maybe if we knew, we’d understand.”

“Naw,” Clint objects firmly. “This is one time I’m glad I’m not a good man, like you. ‘Cause I’mma put an exploding arrow up that guys ass, and I’m gonna enjoy it. It’s one thing for Bucky to diss all the James Barneses with his hair. It’s a whole ‘nother thing for a Clint Barton to try to kill Captain America. _Or_ Steve Rogers.” 

“Thanks, Clint. I appreciate you saying that.” 

“I’m not just saying it, Cap. And when that fake me has a crater where his ass used to be, you’ll believe me.”

Cap smiles weakly.

“Seriously,” Clint says, leaning forward in his chair toward where Cap is sitting on one of the Common Room couches. “What they did to you, we’re just not capable of that. I know we don’t have Hydra here, but we’ve seen plenty of our own shit. Avengers don’t betray Avengers.”

After that, the conversation turns to other things, and Cap finds himself laughing more than he has in the week he’s been in this universe. He had liked the Clint from his universe, before the attack. He’s trouble, just like this Clint, but he’s a little emo. This Clint is much more fun. 

  
* * *

When Cap has been in this universe for a week, he’s allowed to leave Medical and moved to an apartment on one of the residential floors. It’s a good day for everyone. He’s beyond relieved to get out of that hospital room and, as polite and grateful as he is, the medical staff is just as happy to see him go. He’s met the whole team now, so they decide to have a team dinner to celebrate his recovery. No one says it, but Thor is due the next day, and they all know that’s when the work will begin. Besides, Cap is clearly dreading the news Thor might be bringing back. It’s a good excuse to distract him.

The Avengers often refer to themselves as a family, and what they most resemble is a bunch of siblings whose parents have left them unsupervised for the evening. They’re loud and unruly, rarely bother with more than a nod to manners, and delight in insulting and annoying one another. 

Sam has made the meal – he has a thing about grilling – and there’s a ridiculous amount of food. Of course, supersoldiers and other people as active as the Avengers _eat_ a ridiculous amount of food, so perhaps it isn’t so over the top. Everything is delicious, like it always is when Sam cooks, and complimenting the chef is one thing this group is sincere about. 

“This is great, Sam, thank you,” Bruce tells him in his soft, almost-shy voice. 

“You go ahead and enjoy whatever that is,” Tony tells him. “That much more real food for the rest of us.”

“Ignore him, Bruce,” Natasha says, enjoying a forkful of the flavorful risotto Sam’s made especially for vegetarian Bruce. 

Bruce smiles back at her. “I always do.”

“There is no ignoring me in my own building!” Tony cries indignantly.

“There is _so_ much ignoring you in your own building,” Clint corrects him. “It’s how we keep from killing you.”

The table goes silent for a moment until Barnes, sitting next to Clint, flicks him hard in the ear with his metal hand. That causes Clint to look up from his plate with a loud, “OW! What was that for?”

Marya says softly, “I’m sorry, Captain Rogers. We usually tranquilize him before we have dinner guests, but we thought since it was you…” she shrugs rather than finish her sentence, winking at Cap as she takes a drink of wine.

“It’s all right,” Cap assures them with a weak smile. “Please don’t be careful around me. I’m a big boy.”

“Ain’t about bein’ careful,” Bucky says with a scowl at Clint. “It’s about not bein’ a thoughtless twit.”

“Sorry, Cap,” Clint murmurs, in the exact tone and cadence he would’ve used to apologize to his brother when he was seven and their mother made him do it. He follows it up by making an equally mature face at Bucky, who grins. 

Throughout most of the meal, Cap is quiet. He smiles and laughs in response to their attempts to entertain him with their stories, but sharing none of his own. He especially seems to like the story of the battle at Fort Drum. He laughs at the video snip Jarvis shows of Iron Man flying with Natasha under one arm and Marya under the other, and he nods appreciatively when Tony describes Bucky flying in to save the day. But what really catches his attention is the story Bruce insists on Barnes telling, about decapitating two Ten Rings terrorists with one throw of the shield. 

“That’s incredible!” Cap cries.

“Yeah,” Barnes says, with a cocky lift of his eyebrow, “It was. Too bad nobody took video of _that._ Anybody can ride around in a flying suit.”

“I’m gonna remember you said that next time you’re hanging from one of the gargoyles on the roof of the National Cathedral,” Tony warns. 

“I coulda climbed back up.”

“You were unconscious! You were hanging from one of the straps on that dominatrix outfit you used to wear!”

“Hey,” Bucky interrupts. “That’s my dominatrix outfit now. I look amazing in it.”

Marya leans toward him to murmur, “You do,” with a look of abject adoration before kissing him on the cheek.

Half the table groans while Natasha turns to Cap, sitting next to her. “You sure you wanna be a part of this crowd? Because this is what we have to deal with. They’re always like that.”

Cap shakes his head in disbelief. “You can’t imagine how weird that is for me. If you knew the Marya from my universe, you’d understand.”

His expression darkens, something everyone around the table recognizes as the harbinger of an ugly memory. They all have them. Bruce steps in to distract him. “Hey, Cap, why don’t you tell us what it was like growing up during the Depression? Bucky tells us stories – thinks he’s cool ‘cause he’s so much older than the rest of us – but I’m not sure I believe some of the stuff he says.”

“Well, I don’t know about this Bucky, but mine was pretty lucky. His Pop had a good job. They did okay. But my mother and I… well, we struggled. I started working as soon as I could to help, but my mom insisted that I stay in school, and I was sick a lot.”

“Sounds the same,” Bucky tells him. “Did you work at the Fitzroy Textile Mill after graduation?”

“Yeah!” Cap laughs ruefully, surprised once again to be reminded of who Bucky is. “Your Steve, too, huh?”

“Yep. He hated it.”

“Well, yeah. What’s not to hate? Deafeningly loud, no air, inhuman hours— Sometimes I really thought I’d died and gone to Hell.”

Bucky nods. “My Steve said exactly the same thing. But then he’d follow it up with—”

“At least I have a job. Lots of people aren’t that lucky.” Cap and Bucky smile at one another as they say it at the same time.

“Oh, man,” Tony groans, rolling his eyes. “You were always like that.”

Cap notices that Barnes doesn’t join in the general laughter, but doesn’t say anything about it. Instead, he asks, “So, Jim, what about you and your Steve Rogers? I still can’t wrap my head around a Steve and Bucky growing up in the modern world.”

“Not much to tell. It’s boring compared to your story. We didn’t have a Depression or a war. Steve’s mom was all he had after his dad died, but they did all right. He never worked in a textile factory, anyway.”

“How about you? My Bucky worked down on the docks.”

“Me, I delivered pizzas. See what I mean? My story’s boring.”

“Everything about you is boring,” Clint mutters. “Only one around here more boring than you is Bruce, and he works hard at it.”

From there, the conversation deteriorates into general banter and chaos through dessert. Although Cap offers to take care of the cleaning up, Sam won’t hear of it. “Nope. You may be out of Medical, but you still gotta take care of yourself. Tony has people for that. It’s one of the few perks of having to put up with him.”

“Holy shit, the ingratitude! You just wait until the next time you ask me for an upgrade to your wings.”

“Give it up, Stark, you know you live for that shit. You’ll upgrade my wings just because you can, whether I ask you to or not.”

“I’m unappreciated in my own time,” Tony mutters, getting up from the table. “Anybody up for a game of something where shit goes boom?”

“Ooh,” Marya cries, “Can we do bowling? It’s my favorite.”

“Wait,” Cap says with a frown. “Bowling involves explosions in this universe?”

“The way we do it, it does,” Clint shrugs.

“Because these assholes always have to mess with my game system,” Tony says, glaring at everyone still sitting around the table. “I bet Nicola Tesla didn’t have to deal with this shit.”

In the general commotion of everyone getting up from the table and announcing their plans for the evening – most of which involved “Explodo-bowling,” as they’ve come to call it – Barnes makes his quiet way out of the room and toward the stairway without a word. Cap follows. 

At the door to the stairs, he calls to Barnes. “Hey. Everything okay?”

Barnes stops in the open door and turns to him, his expression carefully neutral. “Yeah. I’m good. Why?”

“I dunno. I guess ‘cause you’re quiet. And I’d really like to see what ‘Explodo-bowling’ is all about, but I have to go to bed like an invalid. What’s your excuse?”

“Just not in the mood, I guess. Do I need a reason?”

“No,” Cap says, actually taking a step back as Barnes turns to start up the stairs. He lets Barnes get up a few steps before he begins to follow. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to be nosy.”

“Bullshit,” Barnes huffs with a hint of a laugh. “You’re nosy as fuck. Always have been.”

Cap laughs a little, saying, “Yeah. But I mean well.”

“I know.”

When they get to the floor where Barnes’s apartment is, he stops at the door while Cap slows before continuing up to his floor. “’Night, Cap. Get some sleep.”

“Yeah. You, too.”

With that, Barnes steps into the hallway outside his apartment and lets the door fall closed with a sigh of relief. Throughout dinner, he’d been watching Bucky, sitting next to Cap and chatting like it was the easiest thing in the world. And for Bucky, maybe it was. And then there’s all that shared history, making Barnes feel left out and about as interesting as milk. It’s all he’d been able to do not to punch Bucky in his hundred-year-old, happily-married face. 

Barnes is fucked. He is absolutely fucked.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, why not let me know what you think about the story? I'd love to hear from you!


	26. The War Room

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thor reports back from Cap's Earth, and a plan begins to form. Cap sees Barnes in action and does that thing from old cartoons where his eyes bug about two feet out from his head and there's the sound of an old "AOOOOGA" car horn.  
> Bit of a trigger warning: Cap's gets aggressive about what he wants (in a word - Barnes) and he doesn't ask for consent. It's totally given, no question, it's just that they both understand that Barnes doesn't _want_ to want what he wants. If you know what I mean.

* * *

To his credit, Thor is trying to be gentle. But number one, Thor and gentle aren’t that well acquainted. And number two, no matter how he says this, it’s gonna rip Cap’s guts out. He’s already braced on both forearms on the conference room table, clenching his jaw and staring at Thor in horror. The rest of the Avengers Initiative around the conference room table looks appalled and shocked, but Cap looks absolutely sick.

“Most of the countries on Midgard have already fallen to Hydra. Your Avengers ensured that the United States was one of the first. They’ve taken SHIELD; any members who refused to submit to Hydra control are either dead or in hiding. They’ve also killed the leaders of most nations, and those whose governments have not yet surrendered are beset by hostile forces. It is only a matter of time.”

Thor stops speaking and simply stands at the head of the table waiting for Cap to absorb what he’s said.

“And your friends?” Cap manages to choke out. If possible, he is even more pale than when he was first brought to the Tower.

“They have not interfered, except to assist those loyal to you to reach safety. We’ve told them to await your orders.”

Cap huffs a bitter, mirthless laugh with an ugly sneer. “Orders. What orders? Who am I to give orders? A broken refugee. I got orders for them. Find a way off that planet or learn to say ‘Hail Hydra.’”

“You’re not broken,” Barnes snarls, surprising everyone around the table. “And you’re not alone. You wanna take back your planet, I’m with you.”

“So am I,” Bucky agrees, his face a mask of rage. 

“We’re all with you,” Tony says with finality. “You know I want a shot at those so-called Avengers.”

“Gentlemen,” Thor says quietly, but with authority. “Perhaps I haven’t made myself clear. Captain Rogers is right. His planet is lost. I wish only to know what assistance Captain Rogers would like us to render those SHIELD agents loyal to him: to help them create a sanctuary, or help them to leave. I believe he has made his decision.”

“I have,” Cap sighs, head down.

“Wait, what?” Bucky cries. “You’re just gonna evac your friends and leave everyone else to the tender mercies of _Hydra_? You can’t do that!”

“The situation on Midgard—” Thor begins, but to everyone’s shock, Bucky explodes from his chair with an indignant shout. 

“You _cannot_ be serious. I refuse to—” with a supreme effort to control his temper, he tries again. “Look, Cap, you’re in shock. You’re not thinkin’ straight. You cannot just fuck off with whatever’s left of SHIELD and leave all those people to _Hydra.”_

“Sergeant—” Barnes warns.

“No! Fuck that, Barnes! You don’t know Hydra. _I_ do. _He_ does.” Bucky points an accusing finger at Cap. “We are not leaving an entire planet to be enslaved. Tortured. Murdered at random. And who the fuck knows what they’d build from there? It’s ludicrous to imagine they’d be satisfied with one planet. If you don’t believe me, ask Marya.” He looks down at Marya, who is sitting in the seat next to his. “We’ll tell you some fucking stories about what a world controlled by Hydra looks like. You think it’s an accident we hate them as much as we do? We _know._ ”

“I know, too,” Cap says, instantly capturing the room’s attention because he’s speaking so quietly, yet with such steel in his voice. Where his head had been hung in apparent defeat a moment before, he’s now looking up at Bucky. “I said I’d made my decision. I didn’t say what it was.”

While Bucky tries to calm himself, all eyes are on Cap. “I don’t need you _or_ Marya to tell me what Hydra is like, Buck. You’re right. I know. And I agree. We can’t let them have Earth. My Earth, whatever.” He speaks with a heartbreaking weariness in his eyes. It’s clear that he believes he’s committing himself to die in pursuit of a hopeless cause.

“It will be a planetwide battle, Captain. I am not exaggerating when I tell you the scale of the surrender,” Thor warns him.

This time, it’s Tony who stands to counter him. “Bullshit. They haven’t surrendered. They may not be fighting, but that’s because they think this Hydra has them beat. They’re just trying to save as many lives as they can. If Bucky’s right, they’ll fight if they think they can win. All the good people of that planet need is some hope and a plan. They’ll revolt quick enough. I may not know Hydra, but I know bullies. It’s not that hard for bullies to get good people to do what they want if they scare them bad enough. But if people aren’t afraid, they’re screwed. It only takes one person to stand up and refuse to be bullied, and then another will. And another, and another, until the bullies see they’re outnumbered and start runnin’.”

He’s looking directly at Barnes as he says that. He doesn’t need to be, because Barnes knows easily enough who he’s quoting. 

“And that’s when you chase ‘em and wipe ‘em out,” Barnes says, adding the part he always did when Steve gave this “they’re just bullies” speech.

Steve would usually respond by saying that everyone deserves a second chance, but Cap doesn’t. Not this time.

“You are all brave warriors, and I am proud to be among you. I do, however, feel I should warn you that this Hydra is even more vicious than that in Bucky and Marya’s universe. And much more widespread. We will need armies upon armies to defeat them. And we will need to surprise them. They will not hesitate to call upon the Chitauri for assistance if they learn we are coming.”

“And Loki?” Bucky asks.

“Loki is not in a position to make trouble this time, Sergeant. Loki will not be a factor here.”

“Thank heavens for small favors.”

“Do we have armies?” Cap asks. “I mean, do _you?_ Because I don’t. I have whatever’s left of SHIELD, and I don’t even know how many that is.”

“It is a number of which you will be proud, Captain,” Thor assures him. “But it is nowhere near enough. You will have all the help New Asgard can spare, but that is still not enough.”

Marya leans forward in her chair. Even though Cap knows she’s a member of this team, he still goes rigid and takes a more defensive position when she starts to speak. Some habits are hard to break, and hating and distrusting Marya is one that has kept him alive. Cap doesn’t see that going away anytime soon.

“I am glad to hear that we do not need to convince you to fight, Captain Rogers, because a planet controlled by Hydra—”

“I know,” Cap stops her, irritated that she apparently thinks he doesn’t understand how bad the situation is.

She doesn’t react to his rudeness, instead simply taking him at his word. “I know you do,” she says kindly. “And I know that Sergeant Barnes has told you about my family, and what Hydra did to us. What they made us into.”

Cap nods stiffly. 

“Do you also know that, when we found a way to beg for his help, my Captain Rogers led a mission to rescue my family? That is why I know that my family – we are usually called the Troops – will fight for you and your planet. I do not think you would call us an army, exactly. But there are many more of us than there used to be, now that we are free. And we can fight. My brother Dmitriy is our leader, and Captain Barnes can speak for our ability.”

Barnes exchanges a look with Cap. “You never saw anything like these Troops. They were trained from childhood by Hydra, and they’re the reason there’s no Hydra left in their universe. I kinda like the idea of lettin’ ‘em loose on yours.”

“There’s nothin’ quite like shovin’ Hydra’s own weapons up its ass,” Bucky adds, letting his hatred show.

“But if the Troops were trained by Hydra…”

The others around the table share an ugly smile. Marya’s face goes hard and she suddenly looks every bit as menacing as the Marya of Cap’s universe. 

“Hydra tried to send a spy to infiltrate the Troops’ Compound once,” Bucky explains. 

When no one goes on, Cap asks, “What happened?” although he can guess from the expression on every face.

“What Dmitriy sent them back was not dead,” Marya answers coldly, “But it was not alive, either. They seem to have believed the message he carved into it.”

Cap swallows hard.

Marya continues. “You do not need to worry about the Troops’ loyalty, Captain Rogers. Nor are we as bloodthirsty as this event makes us sound. It is only that we were trained by Hydra, and they made us learn many languages. When they make it necessary, we can speak theirs.”

Cap actually shivers. Aside from the serious pucker he has in reaction to Marya, he realizes – as he hasn’t until this moment – how lethally dangerous every person in this room is. Tony sees him look around the table as he wonders how many people they’ve killed between them. 

“Our lives haven’t made us nice, Cap,” Tony says. “But we are the good guys. Maybe you don’t need to be afraid of any of us, but your Hydra does.”

He lets that hang in the air.

Cap nods, just once. “Then we go.”

As the rest begin to react, his voice pulls their attention back as he adds, “But there is one thing.”

“Name it,” Thor says for everyone.

“The guy I used to be got murdered by his team. If we’re gonna be following Captain America, it’s gonna be him.” He indicates Barnes, who looks more than a little conflicted.

“Steve—” he chokes.

“That’s not up for discussion. Don’t think I need to explain my reasons.” The look he now wears is one everyone in the room has seen. They all know the absolute finality it signals. “And don’t bother asking me if I’m sure.” 

“You know that Tony is the leader of the Avengers Initiative,” Barnes reminds him.

“I do. And I’m offering myself to the team. Can’t promise I’m always gonna be easy to command, but I got no problem followin’ orders.”

“For fuck’s sake, if I only had people on my team who were easy to command, even I wouldn’t qualify,” Tony complains with his patented annoyed resignation.   
  


* * *  
  


Tony and Barnes throw themselves into planning the rescue of Cap’s Earth. It’s quickly obvious that only one thing will make it possible for the team to plan a rebellion on a planetary scale.

In a word, Jarvis. 

Tony quickly programs Jarvis with knowledge of all known military operations in the history of all three universes, plus Asgard. He and Barnes then utilize that unimaginably extensive database to hypothesize the results of various strategies. Jarvis is, of course, an incredibly advanced Artificial Intelligence, but even so, he has limits. Simple statistics and battle plans aren’t enough. Intuition, knowledge of Hydra’s thought processes, and sheer deviousness have to come from the team.

Fortunately for Barnes, they have those in spades. 

It takes Cap a few days to recover enough to be cleared for active duty, and a few days after that to become comfortable enough to participate fully with Tony and Barnes in the planning. The next week isn’t so bad for Tony, because he’s used to working with Rogers and Barnes. But for the two of them, the situation is strange. 

It’s going to take time for Cap to grow into his new role, and he hasn’t planned a mission with his Bucky since the war. Barnes, on the other hand, worked constantly with his Steve in this very room until relatively recently. He finds himself settling gratefully into the familiarity of planning a mission with Steve Rogers, and the reassurance of being able to rely upon his superior strategic mind. The problem is, that well-worn scenario feels completely backward because Barnes is now the superior officer. 

That’s foreign enough, but it’s also coupled with the jarring experience of hearing Cap relate events and information that are entirely new to Barnes. It feels totally wrong every time he does it. Barnes knew pretty much everything his Steve knew. Whenever Steve had talked about his experiences, they were almost always Barnes’s experiences, too. He’s used to a Steve Rogers he knows as well as he knows himself, and in many ways, that’s who Cap is. But this Steve Rogers keeps reminding Barnes that he is, in fact, a stranger.

And there’s something else. Barnes knows he’s distracted by Cap. He needs to be completely focused on battle strategy and logistics, but his attention keeps straying to Cap’s beard and the way his long hair is brushed back from his face. He keeps catching himself studying Cap’s shoulders, or his hands, or his mouth. There are a million reasons he does not want to be doing that, and Barnes is not very happy when Tony goes to Bucky and Marya’s universe with them to recruit assistance for the coming battle, leaving him and Cap to plan without him for a while.

It’s a massive mission. Maybe Barnes would have involved the rest of the team just as heavily in the planning even if Cap wasn’t here. But maybe he’s making sure he and Cap don’t spend much time alone in the communications and planning hub of Stark tower that the team calls the War Room. 

A few days after Tony leaves, there’s a message from Lady Sif, whom Thor has sent to Steve’s Earth. She’s working with the Warriors Three to rescue besieged SHIELD loyalists from wherever they’re holed up and bring them together. Phil Coulson, a very senior SHIELD agent who narrowly escaped the purge when the turncoat Avengers took over SHIELD, has taken command of those who remain loyal to Captain America. Sif and the Warriors Three are also busy discovering pockets of various nations’ armies who also oppose Hydra and are willing to be part of the rebellion. 

Some time after the conversation with Lady Sif is over, Bucky reports in. At the moment, Barnes and Cap are the only ones in the War Room. Bucky reports that Dmitriy needed no convincing; he immediately agreed to commit the Troops to join in the rescue of Cap’s planet. Marya offered to lead them so that he could remain at the Compound, but Dmitriy would have none of it. As Bucky describes the scene to them, Barnes can see the deeper emotion in Cap’s face even as they laugh. 

“I seriously wish I had video. You know how Marya gets that look like you’re the biggest dumbass ever born?”

“She mostly looks at you like that, pal,” Barnes answers into the comms.

“Yeah, yeah. Anyway, it’s even worse when Dmitriy does it, and that’s what she got when she offered to lead the Troops he’s sendin’. So you can count the Troops in, with Dmitriy leadin’ ‘em. I’ll get you a final number when he decides, but it’ll be most of them, as many as he can spare. Marya wants me to be sure you know she’ll fight with the Troops or with the Avengers Initiative, wherever you decide to deploy her.”

“Tell her thanks. And SHIELD?”

“That one’s a little more delicate. They’re in, for sure, but there’s some politics happening around how many they can send. The good news is that Tony’s doing great with the governments. He’s got T’Challa on board now, and you know how charming that guy can be. He could sell sand in the desert. I sent you the latest numbers of personnel and equipment they’ve already got commitments for, and there’ll be more.”

“Yeah, we talked to your T’Challa today. He’s gotten into a pissing match with our T’Challa; they’re trying to outdo each other in how much help they’re sending. Right now, they’re fighting about which of them gets to lead the Wakandan forces.”

“Why can’t they both come? The more the merrier. According to Thor, there’s plenty of work to do.”

“Oh, they’re both coming. Cap suggested today that your T’Challa lead the forces, and ours can be part of the Avengers Initiative. It’s not like the Black Panther hasn’t fought with us before. I think that’s what’ll end up happening.”

“How’s Cap?” Bucky asks, and Barnes feels a twinge of… something. 

“Good as new, Buck,” Cap answers, before Barnes can respond.

“Which is a load of shit, as you know,” Barnes smiles at Cap, “But he is back to training.”

Cap adds, “I’ll be ready when the time comes.”

“No question. Glad you’re on the mend.”

After a few more fond insults, the communication ends, and Barnes leans back in his chair. “That’s about what I expected. It’s not everything we’d like, but it’s better than it might’ve been.”

“All these people,” Cap says in an awed hush. “Armies. Coming to rescue my planet.”

“Can’t wait to see the looks on the faces of your asshole friends. Not only are they about to discover that multiverse theory is real, they’re also gonna get a crash course in ‘payback is a bitch’.” Barnes is smiling, but he notices that Cap isn’t. “Hey. What is it?”

“It’s just… humbling.”

Barnes leans forward and puts a hand on Cap’s shoulder, looking into his face. “And that right there is the reason they’re all doing it. Someone like the Red Skull, or Loki, they’d be all puffed up, thinkin’ how important they are ‘cause they can raise an army. Steve Rogers – _any_ Steve Rogers – feels the opposite.”

It takes a moment, but Cap manages to lift the edges of his lips in a weak smile. “And don’t think I’ve forgotten who was the first person to volunteer to stand with me.”

“’Tragically loyal,’ remember?” Barnes shrugs.

“Don’t,” Cap says, catching Barnes’s hand as he starts to lean back and keeping him close. “Don’t minimize it. What happened, what they did… it’s made me appreciate loyalty that much more. I guess we had a pretty big head start, but I trust you, Jim, and that’s saying something for me. I don’t trust easy, even at the best of times.”

Barnes doesn’t know what to say, especially because the look in Cap’s eyes as he keeps hold of his hand is more than gratitude. He feels that look pulling him in, compelling him to move closer, to put his hand back on Cap’s shoulder and draw Cap to himself. He wants to be pulled in. Suddenly, every cell in his body is screaming to give in to the desire Cap is communicating to him more clearly even than if he was saying the words. 

It makes him instantly furious. He pulls his hand away and stands so quickly he nearly knocks over his chair. He’s at the other end of the table in two strides and, once there, begins to make unnecessary adjustments to a battle map laid out on one of Tony’s virtual screens.

“What?”

“What, what? I got a fuckton of work to do pluggin’ all these forces into the plan.”

It’s blindingly obvious that Cap isn’t fooled, but he doesn’t pursue it, just gets up himself. “I’m gonna get some sleep. You should, too. You know Jarvis’ll wake you if Thor sends a message from Knowhere.”

“Yeah. In a while. G’night.” 

Barnes doesn’t look at Cap as he leaves the War Room, but he still sees from the corner of his eye the searching look Cap gives him.

 _Please, please don’t,_ Barnes pleads silently. _I don’t even want you here. Please, don’t make me have to say no to you._

* * *

The team doesn’t hear back from Thor for another three days, during which Tony returns from Bucky and Marya’s home universe. The work on their Earth is all but complete. Bucky’s in Washington, D.C. working to maximize the amount of assistance SHIELD will be sending, and Marya’s in Spain training the Troops Dmitriy has committed. 

T’Challa is mounting a full-scale charm offensive to win over the last holdout world leaders. He’s such a skilled diplomat that Tony doesn’t even realize T’Challa’s sent him back to his own universe because he’ll do better without Tony there. Barnes and Cap share a private laugh at that, but don’t contradict Tony when he says that T’Challa simply volunteered to do the final “clean-up”. He’s full of ideas and caffeine, and so manic it’s all Barnes can do to be in the same room with him. That’s not a particularly rare occurrence, but this mission is by far the biggest Barnes has ever led, and it’s taken on a personal importance for him that only increases the stress he’s under. 

When Jarvis advises them that Thor is contacting them, Barnes and Tony are in the midst of a battle royal over how to attack the central government Hydra’s working to establish to rule over Western Europe. Arguments between them are fairly common, and usually loud. Tony becomes particularly snarky, even for Tony Stark, and Barnes gets unusually foul-mouthed, even for a guy with the vocabulary of a soldier. 

When Steve was Captain America, of course, these pre-mission arguments occurred between Steve and Tony. Barnes was always somewhere else – as he always said, getting the actual work done. Those arguments were less volatile, if no less hard-fought, because Steve was far more tactful than either Tony or Barnes will ever be. Tony actually prefers arguing with Barnes. He can be more of an ass without looking like as bad by comparison.

The new element here is Cap. He’s trying to calm the waters, which is not easy when neither Tony nor Barnes want the waters calmed. What’s interesting is that neither of them seem willing to tell him to butt out, or otherwise be as rude to him as they’d have been to their own Steve. It’s all too new; Tony’s never been entirely comfortable with his role commanding people with military experience, and Cap’s position as, essentially, Barnes’s sergeant is weird for all three of them.

It’s actually a relief to be interrupted by Thor’s communication.

“Hey, Goldilocks, where the hell have you been?” Tony greets him. He’s on screen, transmitting from a space ship, of all places. 

“Knowhere. I informed you of that when I left.”

“You... what? We’re about to fight a planet-wide battle and you won’t tell us where you’ve been?”

Thor laughs as though Tony’s just told the best joke ever. “Not nowhere, friend Tony, Knowhere. It is a place. I told you that I was going to look for assistance from my friends, the Guardians of the Galaxy. I had to find them first.”

“There are guardians of the galaxy?” Barnes asks. 

“Well, not _your_ galaxy. I sought out those from Captain Rogers’s galaxy. And although they call themselves that, I would not say that they _are_ the guardians of that galaxy. Exactly. They are quite quarrelsome and rely much on sheer stupidity and blind luck. They once—”

“THOR!” Tony shouts. “Two questions. One: are these people coming to help us, and two: do we actually want them to?”

“Oh, yes,” Thor answers cheerfully. “I located them and they have agreed to come to the aid of Captain Rogers’s Midgard. It is their Midgard, as well, and one of them is actually from there. That is why I sought them out. In addition, while I was in Knowhere, I was also able to find some of the remaining Ravagers, who have agreed to assist, also.”

Tony and Barnes share a look. “Your turn,” Tony says to Barnes.

“Okay, I’ll play,” Barnes mutters, then turns to the screen. “Hey, Thor, what’s a Ravager?”

“I know who they are,” Cap tells Barnes. “That’s good news, Thor, thank you. I’ll fill these guys in.”

“How many of these Guardians and Ravagers are there?” Tony asks. “What do they do? How do we use them?”

“I know that, too,” Cap tells him. “Got it, Thor.”

“Excellent, Captain, I will leave you to it, then. There was some discussion as to who would lead them, which would have been problematic given how quarrelsome they are, so I simply informed them that they will be deployed as you order, except for the rabbit.”

“The… rabbit?” Barnes asks.

“Yes. Captain Rogers has met him. He calls himself Rocket. He would only agree to assist on the condition that he be assigned to the Avengers Initiative. He is very interested in Captain Barnes and Sergeant Barnes, for some reason, and wishes to meet them. That means that Tree, also, will need to be assigned to the Avengers Initiative, because Rocket and Tree will not be separated.”

Barnes turns to Cap. “I’m assuming you can fill us in on this rabbit and Tree?”

“Rocket’s not a rabbit, and you’ll figure out pretty quick the other guy’s name is Groot. Yeah, I know ‘em.”

“Great, Thor, thanks for everything,” Barnes says to his image on the screen, sounding a little overwhelmed. “Send us the specifics on numbers and skills, will you? We’ll plug ‘em into the plan.”

When Thor signs off, Tony and Barnes have apparently forgotten their quarrel, because they both turn to Cap in unison.

“What the hell?” Tony demands.

“Relax,” Cap smiles. “This is good news. You guys have led a bit of a sheltered life.”

Barnes shakes his head weakly. “Apparently.”

“We’ve been cooped up in here all day,” Cap says, standing up. “Now that we’ve heard from Thor, you can take a break. Let’s go to the gym, huh? We’ll all feel better after we blow off some steam.”

“You guys go,” Tony says, already turning back to his bank of virtual screens as he waves a hand. “I wanna see what Thor sends us.” With the sarcastic edge back in his voice, he calls over his shoulder, “And I will input _both_ battle plans and scenarios for Europe, Barnes, so don’t bother saying it.”

Barnes smiles at Tony’s back and sings equally sarcastically, “Thank you, Tony.”

Once down in the gym and changed into sweats and T-shirts, Cap and Barnes decide that lifting weights or, God forbid, running on a treadmill won’t be enough to dispel their restless energy. What they both want to do is throw the shield. Since Thor brought Cap’s with him rather than letting his Avengers get a hold of it, they both have one. 

The gym at Stark Tower is perfect for throwing practice, designed by Steve to be used several ways. They start out by simply throwing at stationary practice dummies so that Cap in particular can work the stiffness out of his now-healed arm. For a while, that feels good, loosening them up and giving them a chance to channel some frustration into their throws. But once they’re warmed up, it quickly becomes boring.

That’s where Steve’s design comes in. The gym includes a number of support members that are made of the hardest metals Tony could get his hands on, and some alloys that he himself invented. Barnes points them out, then calls out to Jarvis. 

“Yes, Captain Barnes. How may I be of assistance?”

“We want to do some shield practice. Can you start with just some moving targets?”

“Of course, Captain. What setting would you like?” 

Barnes cuts his eyes over to Cap and, with a wicked grin, says, “Start at six, work up to nine.”

“Very well. I will begin on your command.”

Barnes turns to Cap and points to a corner of the huge room near a wall of shelves filled with athletic and other training equipment. “I’ll go first, show you how it works. You can watch from over there.”

Cap smiles, then heads for the corner Barnes has pointed out. He very much wants to see what Barnes can do with the shield. 

“All right, Jarvis, hit it.”

A disc-shaped metal object the size of a hubcap appears, seemingly out of nowhere, near the other end of the gym. It has a dull, coppery shine to it and is moving left to right about as fast as a person can walk. Barnes reaches back and throws, hitting the object and knocking it into the opposite wall of the gym. The shield ricochets off the wall and Barnes is able to catch it just in time for another object to appear, this one spherical and moving erratically through the air about ten feet above his head. He doesn’t throw the shield this time; he keeps it looped over his right arm and jumps until he’s about level with the sphere, then uses the shield to swat it from the air. 

He swears heartily as a third copper-colored target appears right where he’s about to land. This one is a long, thin pole shape, and Barnes swings his right arm so he can catch the edge of the shield with his left, bringing its edge down onto the target so hard that sparks fly from it. “You’re an asshole, Jarvis,” Barnes calls cheerfully as he swivels his head, searching the gym for the next target. 

“Thank you, sir,” Jarvis replies, and there’s another pole-shaped object shooting toward Barnes from an oblique angle. He catches it on one side of the shield, but it’s a near thing. 

“I think you hurt his feelings,” Cap calls, laughing. He watches as the next object appears, a barrel-shaped target up high and to Barnes’s left. It’s stationary, but the other object that appears at the same time is not. It’s a cube about a foot square to a side, twirling toward Barnes at head height from behind and to the opposite side. Cap wonders what he’s going to do, and is surprised to see Barnes duck. He lets the cube pass over him, then stretches a leg out behind him to lower his body while he’s still facing the targets, which are now both in front of him. He hurls the shield toward the cube, hitting it hard and sending it crashing into the barrel. Again, the shield ricochets – this time off the ceiling – and returns to him. 

For the next ten minutes, Jarvis is popping targets all over the gym, sometimes singly and moving fast, sometimes in multiples and moving in different directions. There are targets that move in random patterns, changing speed, and targets that are so small it’s hard to see them until they’re too close. They’re entirely unpredictable in terms of location, shape, size, and velocity, but they get smaller and faster as Barnes continues to hit them all with the shield. He’s beginning to sweat, grunting with effort as he jumps, pivots, and runs, getting into whatever position he needs to be in to hurl the shield at the objects, use it to block them from hitting him, or dodge them as they race toward him. 

He doesn’t miss. When he throws the shield at an object, he hits it hard, and the throws are all powerful and well-aimed enough that the shield ricochets back to him. He never takes a direct hit, but a couple of the targets do get a piece of him, causing him to shout obscenities. 

The program tests not only his aim and speed, but also his ability to strategize his throws to hit multiple targets or to hit one and have time for the shield to return so that he can throw it again. By the end of ten minutes, Barnes is whirling and diving to avoid flying targets, sometimes jumping over them and, once, grabbing onto one to let it carry him out of the path of another. He lands again, throws the shield to take out the second target, then catches the shield in time to whip around and knock the first from the air. 

As he turns quickly to scan for the next object, he hears a loud, sharp crack very nearby, and looks to see Cap’s shield whiz by close enough that he can feel the air move as it passes. A softball-sized lozenge-shaped target skids to a rest at his feet. Barnes looks up to see Cap, with a shit-eating grin on his face and an arm out to catch his shield as it returns to him. He swings it behind him to lock it into the carrier on his back.

“Jarvis, stop,” Barnes calls as he pants for breath, looking curiously at Cap. 

“That was gonna take you out at the knees,” Cap tells him. “Woulda hurt like hell and knocked you on your ass. You’re welcome.”

Now Barnes is smiling back. The target at his feet moves away from him, returning to wherever it is they come from. (Barnes once asked Tony, but he just smirked and said that Barnes would understand when he grows up.) 

For a moment, they just stand there, smiling at each other. Barnes is winded, but he’s in that preternaturally aware state he gets into when he’s fighting, which is why he sees Cap move before he actually does it. The problem is, he can’t seem to move, himself. When Cap steps forward and reaches for him, what he should do is back up, walk away, get out of Cap’s reach and tell him to go to hell. 

He doesn’t. He just stands still and lets Cap pull him close with one arm while cupping the side of his face in the other hand. Barnes doesn’t think he voluntarily turns his face to fit his lips to Cap’s; he thinks Cap does that with his hand, but he knows that when Cap kisses him, he’s the one who kisses back. He can’t help it. It’s instinct and desire and – dammit – inevitability. He hadn’t been expecting this. He’s all but defenseless. 

He has the shield over his right arm, but he feels his left slide around Cap’s waist, in part to hold himself up because his legs are suddenly trembling. Cap is kissing him decisively, assertively, as though he knows Barnes is going to fight this but he is determined to get a few solid kisses in before that happens. And he does, because Barnes is still completely at the mercy of his surprise and his hormones. 

Until he isn’t. He pulls back, tearing his lips from Cap’s and pushing away. Cap keeps hold of him, though, and says, “That was the hottest fucking thing I’ve ever seen. You’re incredible, you’re—”

But the spell’s broken enough for Barnes to break Cap’s hold and give him a solid push backward. He doesn’t give Cap anywhere close to the full force of his left arm, but when his fist makes contact with Cap’s jaw, he feels a satisfying give and hears a telltale crack. 

From Barnes’s perspective, what he does next is give Cap a homicidal glare and storm angrily from the gym. The problem is that, from Cap’s perspective, what Barnes does is smolder at him for a second and then do an insanely sexy murder strut that features his ass in a starring role. 

Cap knows he should be sorry. He isn’t, not a bit, but he should at least run after Barnes and tell him that he is. He also knows he should go to Medical and have his broken jaw looked at. He doesn’t do either of those things. Instead, he grins as best he can as he hears the door slam shut behind Barnes. Cap had thought that he couldn’t want Barnes any more than he already did. But throwing his shield, leaping and spinning with an athletic grace that even Bucky hadn’t had time to develop, Barnes was simply magnificent. 

No, he’s not sorry. He’s the opposite of sorry he kissed Barnes. He gets that this is going to be tough on him, because Cap looks like his dead husband and that’s gotta be a mindfuck. He honestly wishes that wasn’t the case. But Cap can’t regret that kiss, because he knows for a fact that he’s going to marry Jim Barnes. Barnes is everything he’s ever wanted, including a metal arm kink he didn’t even know he had, and Steve Rogers has never known how to wait for what he wants.

In the more immediate future, though, Cap’s going to be really uncomfortable if he doesn’t get his lust under control. He calls out, “Hey, Jarvis? Can I do that same thing, except let’s start at a five? I’ll tell you when I’m ready to level up.”

“Of course, Captain Rogers. I will begin on your command.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'd love to hear what you think about the story. Comments are cherished! Or come say hi on Tumblr. I'm always up to squee about Stucky.


	27. The Fight Begins

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Barnes tries to sort through his feelings about Cap kissing him. The team prepares for the fight to save Cap's Earth from Hydra. At last, the fight begins.

* * *

Barnes is standing in his shower, leaning against the wall on one arm with his hand splayed against the tile, just letting the hot water beat down on him. His eyes are closed against the water but, more than that, they’re closed against the world. He really doesn’t want to believe this is actually fucking happening to him. 

He’d been expecting Cap to make a pass. Cap’s signals had only become more obvious over the last few days, despite Barnes resolutely not reacting. But he’d never imagined that Cap would just walk up on him and kiss him like that. It had completely taken him by surprise, which was a big part of the reason he’d had zero control of his reaction. As he tore up the stairs from the gym to his apartment, it had taken him a minute or two to figure out why he was so shocked. It wasn’t because it was a particularly outrageous thing to do. It was because it was something _Steve_ would never have done.

Now Barnes is reeling. 

It’s not surprising that Cap has Barnes’s blood boiling: he’s in love with Steve, why wouldn’t he have a thing for a Steve from another universe? The fact that Cap is another version of Barnes’s best friend? That’s not a _bad_ thing, it’s just weird. The part that sucks, and sucks _hard_ , is that Steve is _dead_ , and Barnes has been finding a way to live with a heart and soul full of glass shards for the last two years. Now this son of a bitch comes into his life and, just by being who he is, fucks with all the progress he’s made, unwilling though it was.

And it was unwilling. Left to his own devices, Barnes would simply have shriveled up and died rather than live in a world without Steve. But that was never an option. Even in the days when he’d begged Steve to haunt him, desperate to the point of madness to see him again any way he could, Barnes knew damn well that Steve would have made him get back on his feet and keep living. 

In fact, he used to have imaginary conversations with Steve in the days after he died, when Barnes was such a mess the Avengers used to take turns staying with him because he needed to be reminded to do things like breathe. Even in those imaginary conversations, as much as Barnes didn’t want to hear it, Steve would tell him to get over him. Barnes always imagined him crying as he said it, but he said it nonetheless. 

Barnes lets out a bitter, harsh laugh. Is it really getting over Steve if he moves on to… Steve? 

That thought leads him to the other part of what’s got him confused as fuck. Cap is not Steve. Barnes knows that, of course, and the little differences that keep coming up reinforce it constantly. But now, Cap’s just shown Barnes a _major_ difference between them. It’s not just that Steve wouldn’t have moved on him the way Cap did. It’s that being kissed by Steve was _nothing_ like being kissed by Cap. 

From the fierce, greedy look in his eyes, to the hand on his face holding Barnes exactly where Cap wanted him, to the way Cap’s mouth took complete control of those incendiary kisses, _everything_ was different. Barnes wonders what would’ve happened if he hadn’t pulled away. 

And then he starts to imagine what would’ve happened. 

The way Cap was looking at him, the demanding way he was holding and kissing him, Cap might well have thrown him against the nearest wall and pinned him there. He wonders how far Cap would’ve been willing to go there in the gym if Barnes went along. Cap’s universe is apparently a rougher neighborhood than Barnes’s, maybe that’s part of the reason Cap comes on so strong. If so, maybe that means Cap would have shoved up his shirt, maybe even torn it off… _oh, shit_ … and maybe then he would’ve torn his own off and pressed his whole body to Barnes so that Barnes could feel that massive chest against his own. He’d be rock hard, with the same gorgeous, perfect cock Barnes remembers in exquisite detail, and he’d slide a thick thigh between Barnes’s…

Barnes has his dick in his hand, already halfway there because it’s been so fucking long since he had someone real to fantasize about, someone likely to make those fantasies come true. Would Cap fuck him there, against the wall of the gym, with nothing but spit and precome for lube? Or would he suck Barnes off, so he could hear his cries echo off all the hard surfaces of the gym until he shot his load down Cap’s greedy throat? Fuck, maybe they’d just reach into each other’s pants and jack each other off, not even bothering to take off any more clothes? 

Barnes comes as he’s imagining Cap fucking him in the shower room, with Barnes on all fours and Cap behind him, hissing filth in his ear as he pounds into him. 

* * *

The next morning is immediately awkward as Cap enters the war room with a large, new bruise and a significant amount of swelling over the lower right portion of his face.

“What the hell happened to you?” Tony cries when he sees Cap, and Barnes turns toward the door. 

He waits, curious to hear how Cap will answer. Not that he cares. He’ll happily own that he slugged Cap, and he doesn’t particularly care whether everyone knows why. 

“Nrrrrthrrrg,” Cap mutters through clenched teeth. “Prrrrblem wrrth my jrrrr. Nrrt sprrrrzed trr rrrpen my mrrth.”

“Uh, Cap, the problem with your jaw is obviously that somebody slugged you. Is it broken?”

“Yrrh. Rrt’s frrrn.” Cap waves vaguely, trying to get Tony to drop the subject, as though he’s never met Tony Stark and thinks that will work.

“Somebody hit you and broke your jaw here in the Tower, when you have my personal guarantee of safety? That’s not fine, Cap. There need to be consequences. What happened? Who was it?”

“It was me, Tony,” Barnes says quietly but firmly. 

Tony’s eyes go wide. “ _Why_?”

“That goes under the heading of ‘things you really don’t need to know.’”

Tony looks from Barnes to Cap and back again, his face coloring even as a smirk forms. “Oh, shit. It was a sex thing, wasn’t it? You’re right, if it was a sex thing, I really don’t want to know. Was it a sex thing? Wait, no, don’t tell me.”

“Rr drrsrrved rrt. Wrrrnt hrrpen rrgrrrn.”

“Damn straight you deserved it. And if it _does_ happen again, I’m gonna break more than your jaw,” Barnes growls at Cap. He already wants to hit him again, because Cap doesn’t look the slightest bit regretful. In fact, he looks pretty fucking pleased with himself as he eyes Barnes through lowered lashes.

Tony cups his hands on either side of his eyes and turns back to his virtual screens. “No!” he shouts. “There will be no flirting or eye-fucking of any kind in my presence! Besides, we have too much to do.”

“Not gonna be a problem,” Barnes tells him in that same low, dangerous tone. “Because Cap is gonna be supervising the weapons inventory and putting together requisitions.” Cap starts to respond, but Barnes cuts him off. “And if he gets done before Natasha finishes with the explosives and tactical gear, he’s gonna be assisting her with that.”

Now it’s Tony who starts to object, and again Barnes gets there first. “Because _that_ is the position he chose, and it’s gotta get done.”

“He’s the best strategist—”

“And if we need any help with strategy, we’ll know right where to find him, won’t we?”

The closed look on Barnes’s face and the steel in his voice don’t frighten either Tony or Cap, but they do make them both decide not to oppose him right now.

Barnes’s attitude doesn’t improve much over the next few days, although he’s relieved that Cap keeps his distance. He knows his mood is making the team a little more reserved than usual, but the good news is that they get an impressive amount of work done. By the time Bucky, Marya, and Thor return to the Tower, preparations are beginning to firm up.

Upon his return to the Tower, it takes Bucky approximately a nanosecond to realize that something’s happened between Barnes and Cap. He knows Barnes will either tell him or he won’t, and nothing he does will have any effect on which Barnes chooses. Which is why he asks Cap when they’re in the gym lifting weights after running through a series of training drills. 

Cap’s evasive. “Did you ask Barnes?”

“I’m askin’ you.”

“Maybe you oughtta ask him. I don’t know whether he’d want me telling you.”

“Shit. What’d you do?”

“Who says I did anything?”

“I do. I know you. Also, rumor has it he broke your jaw.”

Cap gives Bucky a disgusted glare. “Well, if he did, then it’s probably a good idea not to piss him off any more by talkin’ about it. Sorry, Buck. You’re gonna have to ask him.”

Bucky shrugs and doesn’t press. Partly, that’s because they’re on the eve of the biggest battle any of them have ever fought. Cap and Barnes don’t need any drama distracting them. Partly, it’s because he thinks he can guess what happened, and he has very mixed feelings about the idea that there might be something between Cap and Barnes. Happily married to Marya or not, Bucky’s loved Steve Rogers his whole life, and he’ll carry that love to his grave. It’s going to be strange, and difficult, to see Cap with someone else, even though he’s not Steve and the other guy is a version of Bucky. He decides to let it go. It’s none of his business. If either Barnes or Cap want to talk to him about it, he’ll listen, but it’s not going to do anyone any good for him to go digging around in whatever’s going on.

Very quickly, they’re all too busy for any drama other than preparations for taking on the Hydra currently trying to conquer Cap’s Earth. Dr. Strange, who is a master sorcerer only in Bucky’s universe, has urgent business that he can’t drop to help. But he has sent a horde of sorcerers who, among other things, will open massive portals that will allow all of the armies coming from other universes to arrive simultaneously at their assigned locations directly from their own universes.

As a result, there’s no reason for an enormous influx of combatants to this universe. Nonetheless, several people who will play key roles in the battle have arrived at the Tower. Thor has brought Lady Sif and the Warriors Three to this universe in order to provide the latest intel regarding what Hydra’s up to on Cap’s Earth. Thor’s also brought Agent Phil Coulson, who is commanding the loyal Shield forces, along with his second in command, Agent Maria Hill. Coulson and Hill are accompanied by a group of handpicked SHIELD agents. This universe’s T’Challa will be fighting with the Avengers Initiative, so he’s also in the Tower training with the team. He’s brought some _Dora Milaje_ and other warriors from Wakanda who have special assignments. Dmitriy and his Troops are there, because they’re a force as small as the Avengers Initiative, and have a major role in the coming fight. Also present are the Guardians of the Galaxy and all the Ravagers Thor was able to recruit, because they don’t have another base from which to launch their part of the attack. 

Having the outsize personalities (and, in some cases, bodies) of all those people in one place makes for crowded, chaotic conditions. Bruce has taken to hiding in his lab sipping endless cups of calming teas unless he’s required to be at a strategy meeting. Thor has pledged himself to ensure that the Guardians and Ravagers remain under some sort of control and do a minimum of damage to the tower. Demigod though he is, he’s hard pressed. 

Rocket has practically glued himself to Barnes and Bucky, who now know what his fascination with them is, and find themselves having to turn down offers for their cybernetic arms several times a day. The good news about that is, Rocket’s also a munitions expert and a sneaky bastard to boot, so between attempts to swindle Barnes and Bucky out of their arms, he actually does quite a bit to improve their battle plans.

Drax gets along famously with the Troops, pronouncing them the most sensible humans he’s met thus far. Of course, that’s mostly because they’re almost as literal as he is. Mantis and Gamora, too, are drawn to the Troops and spend most of their leisure time with them. Nebula is usually close by, although she speaks to almost no one. Marya feels a great deal of kinship with and empathy for her, and tries to befriend her, but Nebula seems most comfortable when they’re working or training together side by side, not talking. 

Nobody knows from one minute to the next where Peter Quill will show up. What they know is that, wherever it is, something will be left broken or hopelessly screwed up in his wake. 

Natasha and Sam have their work cut out for them acting as liaisons between the command center in the Tower and the various armies awaiting their orders. Clint, however, spends as much time as he can with teenage Groot, with whom he shares a similar level of maturity. They’re usually good for several practical jokes and a number of accidents daily. For that reason, Tony’s made the Training Facility their responsibility and they’re usually too busy working on the simulations there to get in any real trouble. 

There are two courses set up at the Training Facility, one a model of the main Hydra command post in Western Europe, and one a model of the Avengers Tower in Cap’s universe, which is a secondary command center. The Troops will be taking out the main command post, and the Avengers will attack the Tower. It’s not possible to program animatronic training dummies with the skill sets of the Avengers or the Troops, but between Clint and Groot, they’ve taught them some dirty tricks. The main purpose of the simulated environments is more to familiarize themselves with the locations and war game different possible attack scenarios. 

That’s where Agents Coulson and Hill are especially useful; they have almost as much inside information as Cap does about the Tower and what Cap’s Avengers might do. They’ve also managed to obtain an impressive amount of information about the command post in Europe through loyal SHIELD agents who pretended to embrace Hydra. As always, Hydra is too proud of itself, too certain of its own success, which makes it vulnerable to infiltration. SHIELD hasn’t obtained nearly as much inside information as those planning the assault would like, but they know more than they might otherwise have.

The night before the operation is to begin, Barnes is wandering the halls of the Tower like a wraith, unable to relax and certainly not capable of sleep. He’s checked everything so many times Tony’s told Jarvis not to let him back into the war room until morning so he’ll have to rest, if only for lack of other things to do. He’s trying not to worry over details of the battle to come, because it’s a futile activity that just makes him more anxious, but when he tries to push the mission out of his mind, what he finds waiting there in the background are thoughts of Cap. Every time.

Cap’s been as good as his word, and has kept a professional distance since the day, almost a week ago now, when he kissed Barnes. But the fact that he hasn’t touched Barnes doesn’t mean he’s behaved entirely appropriately. Barnes finds Cap’s eyes on him a hundred times a day. Which happens because Barnes’s eyes drift to Cap at least that often. And when he does, Cap just gives him the tiniest smirk and keeps right on looking. It’s almost as infuriating as it is tempting. Because Cap manages to do that while completing any assignment Barnes gives him, providing brilliant strategic input into the battle planning, and looking like _that_. 

That part only gets worse as the sky begins to lighten on the morning the operation finally begins. As always, Barnes feels just the slightest bit weird about wearing the uniform of Captain America, and this time, he’s wearing it on a mission with Steve – sort of – who seems to have grown quite comfortable answering to Barnes. That’s not the part that is threatening to derail Barnes’s laser focus on the battle plan, though. What has Barnes all but salivating is Cap’s new tac gear.

Tony designed it with input from Bucky and Natasha. Those two are also responsible for the major arm-twisting that was required to get Cap to agree to the design, although he now grudgingly admits that it’s “pretty cool.” 

It’s so much more than that. It’s perfect. The suit is essentially his Captain America uniform, but in black. Instead of wearing his long gauntlets, Cap’s rolled up the sleeves of this uniform, leaving a swath of powerful forearm bare and accentuating the fingerless gloves he wears. Something about that seems arrogant and almost cruelly casual, and not one of the Avengers Initiative has failed to notice and comment on it. Sam called it “a sartorial fuck you” and lamented that his gear doesn’t have sleeves, or he’d wear his like that, too.

Aside from the fact that the gear looks so good on Cap it’s melting Barnes’s brain (and raising his body temperature in general), it also sends a message that his former teammates will not be able to mistake. His new teammates fully appreciate it, too. The part that had Cap initially objecting to the suit is the clear homage to his role as Captain America, but Bucky and Natasha were able to convince him that’s the part that makes it so right. He _is_ Captain America. He’s also now something more. He’s his universe’s Captain America, and he’s also a member of the Avengers Initiative in his new universe, retaining all the honor and accomplishment of his former role and embracing the new one he’s voluntarily chosen. 

He looks even more powerful in the suit than he did in the red, white, and blue version that Barnes now wears. It befits the fact that he _is_ more powerful now, with allies his universe never dreamed existed. He has now transcended his role as his universe’s Captain America, who was a member of the now-fallen Avengers, and is now a leader of a force that has the ability to overcome them and defeat what they’ve become. 

And, as Cap struts – there’s no other word for it – into the war room, he looks like he finally believes that. Barnes can’t help the smile and nod of approval he gives Cap, his mind flashing back to that night in Bruce’s lab when he was overcome with the hopeless grief and loss inflicted on him by those he trusted – and loved – most. Cap is no longer broken. Although he’s chosen the call sign Nomad, he is no longer a man without a home. He _is_ home and, as frustrating as Barnes finds his confused and heated feelings for him, he is very welcome. 

Cap steps up to Barnes, who’s still smiling at him, and Barnes reaches out a hand. Cap takes it in the way Steve would have – reaching past the hand and clasping Barnes’s wrist as Barnes clasps his. 

“Now that is one hell of a uniform,” Barnes says warmly. “Welcome to the Avengers Initiative, Nomad. You ready to make a whole lot of people shit their drawers when they see you comin’?”

“More than ready. And, by the way, you were right.”

“Of course I was,” Barnes answers with a laugh. “What was I right about this time?”

“You said you look better in the uniform than I ever did. You were right.” 

Barnes wants to be mad, to make a withering response that will let Cap know how unwelcome that comment is. Except they both know it’s not unwelcome. Not really. And Barnes is too busy trying to keep his footing against the wave of desire that hits him to say anything. 

Fortunately, Peter Quill bounds into the room at that moment. “Sorry. Am I late? I got laid by one of those Troop chicks and I had to rush back to my rooms to change clothes.”

Barnes drags his eyes from Cap’s and turns to the room at large. “No one even noticed you weren’t here, Quill. All right, the last force has just reported in. We’re a go. Jarvis, sound the Assemble alarm, and let’s get to the gym.” As he walks out of the war room past Quill, he purposely catches him in the stomach with the shield he’s just picked up. As Quill doubles over, Barnes says casually to Gamora, “Shoot him will you?”

“With pleasure, Captain,” she replies, beaming. 

In the gym, there are two groups of fighters standing together on either side of the huge room. Each group has a different objective. The Troops, with all of the Ravagers and Guardians other than Rocket, Groot, and Mantis, are going to meet up with an army made up of anti-Hydra soldiers from the armies of Western Europe to take out Hydra’s main command center. The Avengers, with Lady Sif and the Warriors Three, will be meeting up with the remaining loyal members of SHIELD to take back Avengers Tower. Between those groups are other individuals and smaller knots of people who have other assignments or who are to rendezvous with others in different places than the destinations of the main groups. For example, Agent Phil Coulson will be meeting up with the rest of what’s left of SHIELD outside the Tower. 

As the commanders and the others who had been in the war room enter the gym, Barnes sees Bucky and Marya standing together in the middle of the room. They’re murmuring to one another, and he can easily imagine what they’re saying. While Bucky will be taking Avengers tower with the Avengers Initiative, Marya will be with the Troops taking the European command center. Barnes had been impressed that, when he’d made those decisions neither Bucky nor Marya made any comment except to acknowledge their orders, even though he was sure they’d rather be fighting together. They’re good soldiers, both of them, and Barnes feels a momentary rush of fondness for them as he calls out for everyone to take their places. With a last kiss and a smile, Bucky and Marya separate and move to stand with their teams.

There’s no rousing “Let’s kick ass” speech. That isn’t Barnes’s style, and although Tony is the leader of the Avengers Initiative and bombastic as hell himself, Tony has deferred to Barnes on that. Instead, Barnes has already met with the groups and fighting forces individually, in person or by video, for quieter, more personalized talks. Their own leaders can whip them up with inspiring speeches if that’s their thing. Barnes’s method is actually more effective than trying to inspire them with a one-size-fits-all address. They’re all here because they choose to be, following Captain America to rescue the planet of another Captain America for love of the shield, well aware that both of those men are going to be putting themselves in even more danger than they’re asking the fighters to undertake. 

At a nod from Tony, the sorcerers begin to open their portals, and the battle is on.

To say that the turncoat Tony Stark is surprised to see a horde of superheroes walk through a sparking hole in the air of his lab would be an understatement. Cap is, in his heart of hearts, a little disappointed that his Tony doesn’t actually mess his pants at the sight, but he is nonetheless pleased to see Tony blanch and stop breathing, his slack mouth gaping open and not one snarky comment to be heard.

Cap steps forward and says, “I don’t recommend trying anything, Tony, but I hope you do, ‘cause I am absolutely lookin’ for a fight.” He engages the shield gauntlets T’Challa had gifted him with two weeks before, and with which he can easily kill Tony any one of several ways from where he stands. If anything, Tony’s eyes go even wider and he takes an unmistakable step back. “Mantis?” Cap calls softly, keeping his eyes on Tony.

Mantis steps out from the large group with her to stand next to this Hydra-affiliated Tony, who barely notices because he’s just seen Iron Man in the group, his faceplate up to reveal Tony’s own face, sneering disgustedly at him. He doesn’t react at all when Mantis places a hand on his biceps.

“He is shocked, almost too shocked to feel anything else,” Mantis tells Cap. “The only other thing he feels is anger.” 

Bad Tony blinks and turns unfocused eyes on Mantis for a second before looking back at the crowd of super-people in his lab, all glaring at him. Cap gets in his face.

“What are you going to do, Tony? You need to call the Avengers, and your Hydra friends. You knew I was alive, and you’ve planned for this. You got some tricks up your sleeve. What are they?”

Mantis nods. “Yes. I can feel him shuffling through possibilities.”

“Of course he is,” Cap sighs. He takes a moment to collect himself, then looks into his Tony’s eyes. “We’re here to take this planet back from Hydra. You can’t imagine the scale of the force I’ve brought. You can’t win. I like to think that, at one point, we were genuinely friends, so I’m going to give you one chance to surrender quietly and sit out the fight of your own free will.”

“Yeah, that’ll happen,” Tony replies, trying to sound like his usual cocky self, but sounding so overwhelmed it’s like he’s mimicking himself. Cap just shakes his head.

Mantis understands. Her antennae begin to glow as she closes her eyes. 

“Okay, Tony,” Cap singsongs. “You want to go with the nice lady through the sparkly portal now.”

They all watch this wrong Tony’s face first show terror as he lets out a little shriek, then soften. Eventually, he even grins a little looking at the portal. “Wow,” he says to Cap. “Where’s it go?”

“Another universe, where there are guest quarters waiting for you. You’ll be much more comfortable than you deserve, and don’t pay any attention to anyone who calls it the brig.”

“Another universe, eh? That’ll be cool.”

“Right? And after the team taking over The Raft reports that it’s secure, you’ll be going there. Won’t that be fun?”

“Okay, yeah,” Tony answers pleasantly. 

Cap nods at one of the Wakandan _Dora Milage_ here with the team, who makes an inviting gesture toward the portal. With an expression of childish excitement on his face, Tony happily walks through it, and it closes behind him. So much for the Iron Man of this universe.

“You’re sure that mood will last long enough?” Cap asks Mantis.

Mantis nods enthusiastically. “I’m sure. But they’ll be sedating him by now, anyway. Mr. Stark – good Mr. Stark, not the Abominable one – has instructed them not to take any chances.”

Cap actually lets the slightest hint of a grin touch his lips. Somewhere along the line, someone made a joke about the “Abominable Avengers,” and the name stuck. The team had needed a way to distinguish the Avengers from Cap’s universe from those on the right side of this fight, and this worked as well as anything. 

Tony, clanking as he moves in his Iron Man armor, calls out to Friday, who is Abominable Tony’s AI in this universe. 

“Yes, Mr. Stark,” responds the lovely Irish lilt. Tony, Cap, and Barnes share a loaded look. “Mr. Stark.” Not “Boss.” This is not good news. Calling him that means Friday knows that he is not her Tony Stark. Tony begins to rattle off a series of commands, interspersed with seemingly random strings of letters and numbers. 

Nothing happens.

“Friday?”

As before, the AI simply responds, “Yes, Mr. Stark.”

“Shit,” Tony hisses. “Guess we’re doin’ this the hard way. Jarv? I gotta plug you in.”

Inside his suit, Tony hears Jarvis respond with an unconcerned, “Yes, sir.”

“You copy that, Hill?” Barnes asks into his comms.

“I copy. Standing by.” Agent Hill is back in the war room in Stark Tower, acting as the communications and technology hub. She has a staff made up of tech specialists from SHIELD and Stark Industries who are prepared for every contingency the team could think of, and genius enough to handle anything else.

“All right,” Barnes says to the group around him in Avengers Tower. “We planned for this. Let us know when Jarvis is in control, Tony. Everybody get set.”

Within the next few seconds, the intruder alarm has begun screaming and the team is in position on either side of both entrances to the lab. As happens sometimes in battle, the initial bad luck is followed by a stroke of good. The first person to hustle into the lab is Bruce Banner. 

Bucky is in command of the squad at that particular door, and calls out for Mantis, who is across the lab. Abominable Bruce is less stunned by the group than Tony had been, having had the warning of the intruder alert, and having thus far only noticed the faces of Bucky and Mantis, two people he doesn’t know. So he hasn’t begun to transform into the Hulk before Mantis is smiling as she crosses the room toward him. 

“Hello, Dr. Banner,” she greets him in her childlike chirp, antennae already glowing, while the team’s Bruce Banner shrinks behind Sam so that he won’t be seen. “My name is Mantis. I came here to meet you because my people need help.”

She reaches out a hand, which the part of the new arrival that is Bruce Banner automatically takes in his. From there, it’s an easy matter for her to calm him. Within moments, the sorcerer with the team has opened a small portal and another Wakandan, this one a member of the Border Tribe, escorts a fascinated Abominable Bruce through.

Cap looks down at the floor and closes his eyes for a moment. Barnes aches for the pain on his face.

“Thank God,” Barnes says to pull him back into the moment. “Didn’t really wanna be fighting a Hulk.”

“Me, either,” Bruce replies wryly.

Cap has no further time to think because, at that moment, all hell breaks loose.

In addition to the intruder alarm, which has been shrieking continually since it began, Friday’s voice begins to announce, “The Tower is under attack. Attention: the Tower is under attack. Defense Protocol Epsilon is now in effect. All personnel not part of Defense Protocol Epsilon, go to a place of safety immediately. This is not a drill. The Tower is under attack.”

“Oh, good,” Natasha says, as nonchalantly as though someone’s just offered to freshen her coffee. “SHIELD’s here.”

Everyone in the room exchanges looks and nods. Defense Protocol Epsilon. Good. Coulson and Hill have provided full details on that plan. It does, however, make it even more critical that Jarvis successfully disable Friday.

Barnes cues his comms as the team readies themselves for the next phase of the attack. “Troop Ten? Status report?”

“We’re in,” Dmitriy’s breathless voice speaks in his ear after a short breath. “But Abominable Marya is here, and she is a гребаная пизда. I am a bit busy, brother.” 

“Copy, Ten. Good hunting.”

Over the next minutes, Barnes has time to check in with the leaders of the other forces beginning their missions around the globe. Only the army in China has had unexpected difficulties launching its attack. The leader of that army is the former leader of _The_ Army in China, however, and reports that he’s confident they can pull it together. 

The team in Avengers Tower waits, because they know that two STRIKE teams will try to eliminate them, one team entering through each of the entrances to the lab. It delays the team finding the rest of the Abominable Avengers, but it’s also an opportunity to take out two of the five STRIKE teams early. 

Three long minutes later, Barnes has had reports from each of his forces and is getting a too-detailed explanation of the challenges Jarvis is having in overcoming Friday’s control of the Tower, when the STRIKE teams arrive at either door almost simultaneously. Both doors are blown in within several seconds of each other, and the STRIKE soldiers come boiling into the room. 

At the same time, Abominable Clint Barton drops down into the room, seemingly from mid-air, but actually from the ventilation duct now open on the ceiling. The second he does, Abominable Natasha Romanoff lands lightly on her feet beside him, and the two are back to back with a loaded bow and dual Glock 26s aimed outward. 

Abominable Natasha has the same red hair as good Natasha, but she wears hers much longer, and the bottom half fades from her signature red to blonde. While the details are different, her skin-tight catsuit is one that non-Hydra Natasha would wear. Abominable Clint, however, is wearing sleeveless tac gear in an odd purple. Good Clint hates it so much he wonders whether the guy’s wearing it voluntarily, or maybe it’s some sort of Hydra punishment. He’s heard those guys are inhuman.

There are a few bursts of gunfire from the STRIKE teams, but nobody’s hit. Mostly, that’s because as the STRIKE soldiers aim, they begin to recognize the Avengers’ faces in the group. They cease fire and pull their weapons up quickly.

Abominable Clint is the first to see Cap. “Fuck me sideways,” he mutters, his expression making clear that his worst fear’s just been confirmed.

“That’s why I’m here, Hawkeye,” Cap growls. 

Abominable Natasha raises an eyebrow, looking almost bored. “Like the new look,” she drawls, giving Cap a lazy once-over.

“How about mine?” Natasha asks, and is quite gratified when her Abominable counterpart lets out a gasp – small, but still there – of genuine fear at seeing her. Abominable Black Widow does manage not to say anything, though she’s unable to hide her struggle to control her face.

For a few moments, there’s no sound as the Abominables search the room, locating each of the familiar faces.

“This is the Avengers Initiative. In their universe, Avengers don’t attack Avengers,” Cap tells his former teammates, cold rage making his voice low and gravelly. “But when they learned you’d become Hydra, they decided to make an exception.”

With that, he lunges at Abominable Black Widow and Hawkeye, and the fight is on.

гребаная пизда Fucking cunt

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What do you think? Let me know in the comments, or come say Hi on Tumblr!


	28. The Liberators

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The real battle for Avengers Tower begins at the top, with Barnes's teams, and at the bottom, with the SHIELD force. Meanwhile, another group tries to keep all of Hydra's attention focused on them at the main entrance.  
> In Prague, Dmitriy's forces surround Hydra's main headquarters, trusting all their fates to the last person they probably should - Peter Quill.

After a skirmish like the one in Tony Stark’s lab in Avengers Tower, a person might expect there to be a lot of blood. There isn’t. With so many superheroes spread throughout the space, the STRIKE teams don’t stand a chance, automatic weapons or not. The polished cement floor is littered with bodies but, with very few exceptions, they’re still breathing. 

Not going to be taking any further part in this battle, for sure. But breathing.

Steve Rogers has been a powerful voice for using the minimum force necessary in all three universes involved in this fight. Sometimes, such as the battle for Fort Drum, killing is unavoidable. This hadn’t been one of those times. That means more work for the sorcerer and the Wakandan warriors, who quickly set about transporting all those unconscious douchebags to the federal penitentiary in Bucky and Marya’s universe, where a maximum security unit had been emptied out to receive them. They’ll all eventually have to face charges in this universe, but for now, they just need to be taken out of the fight.

Now comes the hard part. Avengers Tower is massive, and full of highly-trained Avengers and SHIELD agents, all loyal to Hydra. Since Coulson and Hill have no way of knowing, the team doesn’t know how many Hydra assholes inhabit the Tower now. Neither do they know how much outside assistance they can expect once Hydra knows the Tower is under attack. 

The hope is, there won’t be any assistance. Cap has everyone calling the team of Avengers, Asgardians, Guardians of the Galaxy, Ravagers, and military refugees trying to free Cap’s Earth from Hydra the “Liberators.” The Liberators have attacked every known Hydra stronghold on the planet at once specifically with the idea that, if everyone loyal to Hydra is working to defend themselves, they won’t be able to help anyone else. Hopefully, that’s how it will work. But Barnes and his team aren’t taking anything for granted. Although it’ll help if the existing hostile force in the Tower isn’t augmented by any reinforcements, it is nonetheless a formidable enemy, even with Abominable Iron Man and Hulk taken out of the equation. 

And the team still has to deal with all of the remaining Abominable Avengers. Abominable Clint Barton and Natasha Romanoff, unfortunately, both slipped out of the lab when it had become apparent that they and the STRIKE teams were hopelessly overmatched. Cap points that out to Barnes with a scowl Barnes is glad isn’t directed at him. 

“Just left ‘em here,” Cap snarls. “To be slaughtered, if that was what we were gonna do.”

“They know you won’t do that,” Barnes tries.

“They don’t know shit, Jim. They don’t know _you._ They got no way of knowing you’re not a monster. Don’t bother making excuses for them. They don’t fucking care.”

Barnes puts a hand on Cap’s shoulder and looks into his eyes. “Then remember that, if it comes to killing one of ‘em. If they’re that far gone, there’s no reason to hesitate. C’mon. Let’s fix this.”

Cap nods, visibly steeling himself for the coming fight. Barnes slaps Cap’s shoulder heavily, then turns to Tony, who’s already messing with virtual screens. 

“How’s Jarvis coming with Friday?”

“Lemme tell you, this Friday is a crafty bitch,” Tony answers without looking away from the displays. “So far, she’s got Jarvis by the danglies.” Despite the fact that success depends upon Jarvis being able to control the Tower and, from there, the larger technology connecting Hydra, Tony looks really pleased with his Abominable self.

“Is Jarvis gonna be able to get it done, Stark? ‘Cause there’s always Plan B.”

That gets Tony’s undivided attention. “We are not gonna blow the Tower right outta the gate, Barnes. Don’t be an ass. Jarvis is a crafty bitch, too. It’s just gonna take some time.”

“All right, but turn it over to Hill now. We need you and Sam in the air.”

“Yeah, yeah. I’m coming,” Tony grouses, but he begins to shut down the displays. 

Barnes and Sam share a quick handclasp and shoulder bump. “Kick ass,” Barnes says.

“That’s what I do,” Sam smiles back, and pulls his goggles down over his eyes. He quickly hustles Tony off the computer and out the door toward the landing pad, from where they can launch.

“We’re gonna follow ourselves,” Clint tells Barnes, jumping easily to catch the edge of the vent opening in the ceiling and pulling himself nimbly up. Once inside, he turns and looks back to the group. “I’m takin’ Abominable Tasha. She’s got a ‘tude.”

“You okay with that plan?” Barnes asks Natasha with a grin.

“Hell, yeah. I’ve wanted to punch Clint’s lights out for years,” Natasha winks, and is soon out of sight in the ceiling behind Clint.

With that, Barnes shouts the order to move out. The four teams – one led by Barnes, one by Cap, one by Bucky, and Thor leading Sif and the Warriors Three – quickly form up and make for the exits and their assigned missions.

There are three STRIKE teams left, and the team has to assume that they’re all in the Tower. They also have to assume that all the remaining Abominables are here, too. That means in addition to Clint and Natasha, there’s an Abominable Sam here somewhere. Cap and Phil Coulson have also given the team thorough briefings on some others with superpowers in this universe who have been corrupted. That had led to an interesting discovery: while these supers also exist in Bucky and Marya’s universe, they don’t in the third universe. Tony’s already given that one a lot of thought, and he’s planning to return to it.

Among the Abominable superpeople in this universe is a man with powered armor similar to Iron Man’s who calls himself War Machine. There’s also a barely-legal kid with amazing powers who goes by Spiderman, a guy called Ant-Man with a suit that can both miniaturize and giant-size him, and some kind of katana-wielding smartmouth called Deadpool. 

Of course, the team has also been briefed on some corrupted people who don’t have superpowers, but are nonetheless extremely dangerous. Among them are SHIELD director Nick Fury, Stark Industries CEO Pepper Potts, and Brock Rumlow, the leader of STRIKE team Alpha.

* * *

There’s a pitched battle going on in the main lobby of the Tower. After careful consultation with Thor, Tony and Barnes have assigned all of the Ravagers to the force that, under the command of a team of SHIELD agents, have engaged the Hydra guards defending it. It's the perfect job for a group of rough-and-tumble pirates who just want to shoot shit and get paid for it. Their only task is to figure out where the bad guys are, keep their guns pointed at them, and not get shot themselves. 

The Hydra fucks have all the good positions. They would, of course, because it’s their turf, and the Liberators' forces could only keep their approach secret for so long, which meant Hydra had about a three-minute warning that they were coming. Since the lobby is at the bottom of a twenty-story atrium at the front of the Tower, and Hydra has all the high ground, the Ravagers and SHIELD agents are sitting ducks. 

Or they would be, except for one thing. Avengers Tower is fairly new, having been built only after a madman bent on revenge against the Stark family caused significant damage to New York City – damage Stark Industries paid to repair. As part of that project, SI acquired a building and transformed it into Stark Tower, the first skyscraper in New York powered by self-contained clean energy. 

Tony Stark being somewhat of a magnet for trouble, and involved with SHIELD and what was then called the Avengers Initiative, the building needed to be highly defensible. And it is. The problem – for Hydra, at least – is that the plans for SHIELD’s defense of the Tower were mostly drawn up by SHIELD. Specifically, they were developed by a team headed by Agent Phil Coulson, and one of the team members was a brilliant young Maria Hill. It’s where they met, in fact, and they’ve both been involved in training SHIELD agents to defend the Tower ever since. 

Hydra’s controlled the Tower for less than two weeks, which means that they haven’t had time to re-work those defense plans. Besides which, any plans to defend the Tower must necessarily be based upon defensive attributes Tony Stark built into the design of the Tower itself, all of which are fixed, and known to the team trying to recapture it. The defensive systems in the now-renamed Avengers Tower are not identical to the defensive systems in the Stark Tower that launched this battle. But they’re close, and they’re all known to the team.

In fact, not a single Ravager or SHIELD agent has been hurt, despite the number of Hydra mooks they’ve already eliminated. They’re not taking chances. They’re just letting the Hydra idiots shoot, which gives their positions away, and entering those positions into an input panel. Sure, they’re shooting back, because most of them are Ravagers, and they’re expected to. But it’s not the point.

The point will become apparent just as soon as Jarvis gets control of the building. That’s when Hydra will discover that Rocket really is a son of a bitch.   
  


* * *

  
While the Liberators trying to get in through the front door are putting on a show and making a racket, the main SHIELD forces are getting into the Tower in myriad other ways. The Tower is powered by its central arc reactor, of course, but this building wasn’t always self-contained. There are still tunnels underneath, disused now since the Tower has no need of electrical input or steam. It’s in Manhattan, too, which means that seawater has to be continually pumped out of the underground levels, and that means pipes. 

Phil Coulson has a way of idolizing his heroes. But those are few and far between, and with everyone else, he’s never been a particularly trusting soul. It’s a big part of what makes him good at his job, and it’s why he’s always watching people. That’s how he noticed that, especially after the Chitauri invasion, Stark and Fury seemed to be obsessed with looking _up_ and _out_ for threats, and he had more and more trouble getting them to take these points of underground access seriously as a dangerous weakness. For Stark and Fury, it’s apparently unthinkable that any force that would enter through underground tunnels like rats could actually threaten _them_.

That had been teeth-grindingly frustrating for Coulson, who gets paid to worry about _everything._ Not today. Today he’s counting on these tunnels remaining unthinkable to Fury, because the thing is, the rest of SHIELD doesn’t know about them. Nobody does. When he couldn’t get Stark to seal them off, Coulson had wisely chosen not to mention them to anyone else. That included all but a handful of his most trusted colleagues at SHIELD, although he could never have explained that particular piece of paranoia. Whatever had tipped him off, he now knows he was right. And, of course, he never told anyone _outside_ of SHIELD. It would’ve been a very bad idea to advertise the fact that those with the biggest stake in the safety of the Tower had such a vulnerable blind spot. 

Instead, he’d made the underground access points disappear. Not literally, of course, but from every schematic and blueprint of this building in existence, so far as he knew. With the help of a team of the only six SHIELD agents who knew the secret, including Maria Hill, he’d had excellent fakes made. He had then proceeded to break into a total of eighteen government and thirty-two private offices to replace the paper plans kept there with the fakes. One of those private offices had been Tony Stark’s. 

After that, the team had used Friday – Phil and Friday are so close, they’d probably be married if she had a physical body – to alter every electronic copy they could find. And, at the very end, Friday had erased all record of the underground accesses to Avengers Tower in her own memory. Today, if there is any record anywhere of the ways to infiltrate the Tower from below, it’s hidden somewhere very obscure, and hopefully not somewhere Fury or Stark can get their hands on it.

As a result, the majority of the SHIELD forces entering Avengers Tower are doing so from underneath. That’s part of why Barnes and his teams arrived in Stark’s lab at the top of the Tower. Those teams will start at the top, SHIELD will start at the bottom, and they’ll eliminate everybody in between. 

At least that’s the idea.

For Agent Coulson, the elimination is apparently going to begin with the STRIKE team that’s doing a very thorough sweep of the underground parking levels, ensuring that there isn’t a car bomb or other threat lurking down there. To his disappointment, it’s not Team Alpha – Coulson has always wanted to shoot Brock Rumlow in his smug, overconfident face – but it’s still an excellent target. 

He keeps most of the SHIELD agents infiltrating the building moving on to their objectives, and leads a smaller squad to take out the STRIKE team. Since Jarvis doesn’t have control of the building yet, and Friday won’t cooperate with Coulson if it means endangering Stark or the Tower, they’re going to have to keep this quiet. He doesn’t want a firefight in the garage attracting anyone’s attention on the security feeds. That would just draw more guards, maybe even another STRIKE team. 

Instead, he uses hand signals to send agents in several directions on the levels just below where the STRIKE team is now. He would feel sorry for the STRIKE guys, knowing what’s about to happen to them, if he didn’t know what complete immoral douchebags they are. STRIKE is responsible for most of the deaths of SHIELD agents on the day Hydra sprung its trap. It’s going to feel good to watch these fuckwads walk into SHIELD’s.

And it is.

The look on Jack Rollins’s face as he’s hit with the first taser round has Phil Coulson looking forward to the next time he’s in a bar having beers with… anyone, really. He knows immediately that he’s going to tell this story over and over and get laughs every time. Rollins manages to look both frightened and seriously pissed off as his knees buckle and he tries to figure out why suddenly everything hurts and his mouth doesn’t work. 

Better yet, one of his teammates turns to him with a dim-witted frown of confusion and says, “What’re you doin’, Boss?”

Coulson actually chokes a little on a laugh, which gets five high-powered fully automatic weapons swinging his way almost before he can duck back behind his concrete pillar.

“What was that?” one of the STRIKE assholes says.

Another grunts, “You hear somethin’, too?”

They’re doubly on their guard now, all looking in Coulson’s direction, which allows the three agents behind them to hit four more of the team and be back under cover before the four left standing realize anything’s happened. 

One of them lifts his wrist to his mouth and gets “Sitwell!” out before he’s taken down by a conventional bullet, dead before he hits the concrete. There’s no point using the silent taser bullet guns, now that most of the STRIKE team is down and the three left definitely know SHIELD’s here. 

Those three are either smarter than their brethren, or have a flash of actual strategy, because they dive for cover and begin to shoot. Coulson swears, knowing that there’s no way Friday doesn’t know they’re here now. A gunfight in the parking garage is not going to go unnoticed. 

“Hey, Hill,” Coulson whispers into his own comms. “You got me?”

“Loud and clear, boss.”

“How’s Jarvis doin’ with the takeover?”

“Stark’s estimating another twenty minutes.”

“All right, well, things aren’t going as quietly down here as we’d like. Assume Friday knows we’re here.”

“Roger that. I’ll alert the other teams.”

At that moment, a series of deep, thudding metallic clangs sounds. The gunfire may be louder, but these new sounds are so different in character that they’re easily discernable. 

“FUCK!” Coulson hisses.

Hill’s unemotional voice comes through his earpiece. “Lockdown?”

“Yep.” 

“Copy. I’ll see what I can do from here, but you might be there awhile.”

“Do it. We’re finally gettin’ some payback. I want in on it.”

* * *  
  


Since there’s no hiding the fact that a large force is advancing on Hydra headquarters in Prague, the Guardians of the Galaxy and the Troops haven’t bothered to attempt stealth. They can’t, when they’re leading a massive international army made up of military refugees from the armed forces of Europe. Planning for this mission had begun with the assumption that the forces, led by Dmitriy, would already be surrounding Hydra headquarters. The thing is, they don’t exactly know how they’re going to get to that point. Peter Quill had assured them that all they had to do was walk calmly up to the building without appearing threatening. He’d do the rest. 

He refused to explain, just repeating, “Trust me.”

Barnes had actually lost his temper at one point and shouted, “Why is it the more you say to trust you, the less I feel like we should?”

While Quill had stood gaping at him with a dramatically overdone wounded expression, Gamora had stepped in. “You’re right to be skeptical, Captain. He’s a complete idiot. Somehow, though, he always seems to come through when it counts.”

Rocket, standing on the central table in the room amidst maps and electronic debris, added, “It’s kind of a mystery, actually. Technically, he should die horribly about once a week. But he never does. So when he says he can get the forces close in, I’d just go with it.” He’d looked at Groot before facepalming so hard it looked like it hurt. “I can’t believe I’m actually sticking up for that moron.”

Groot patted Rocket on his drooping shoulder. “I am Groot.”

“Thanks, buddy. I appreciate that.”

In the end, Barnes had been forced to agree to trust Quill because Dmitriy had been convinced, and Dmitriy was in charge of the forces being deployed to Prague. No one will ever know whether Quill actually had a plan before the battle. All anyone knows is that, as Gamora had predicted, he appeared to have one when the time came.

On the morning of the battle, several of the principal fighters had stood in the main room of a house on an unremarkable street in Prague, about a mile from Wallenstein Palace. Tony Stark had been right. Now that they had been given hope, people were plenty willing to take part in a rebellion against Hydra control of the world. The citizens of Prague had been all too happy to take in the soldiers who had trickled into the city, as quietly as they could, over the past weeks as the Avengers Initiative had planned the rebellion.

“It is time,” Dmitriy had said. “Tell us your plan, Quill.”

“You know, since I’m the one who’s about to get you all into Hydra headquarters without a shot being fired, you could call me by my official title, which is Star-Lord. It’s just common courtesy.”

“No.” 

Quill had waited a moment to see whether Dmitriy would crack a smile or say anything further, but he simply stood there, looking down at him with undisguised suspicion. Dmitriy, over six and a half feet of hard muscle with a scarred forehead and penetrating scowl, was intimidating at any time. Given that he was also currently wearing head-to-toe black tac gear and bristling with weapons, all of which he was known to use with frightening proficiency, a normal man would have been threatened. Normal, however, isn’t a word routinely used to describe Peter Quill. 

“Fine. Be a dick, then,” Quill had shrugged, genuinely annoyed. “We’re not gonna be able to blast our way in there. So we’re gonna use good, old-fashioned bullshit.”

“He does not mean the actual dung of bulls,” Drax had quickly informed Dmitriy, having learned this lesson the hard way.

“Yes, I know what ‘bullshit’ means, thank you, Drax.” Dmitriy had assured him, then turned back to Quill. “What do you have in mind?”

What Quill had in mind had been so mind-numbingly risky that Marya had first offered to shoot him, then actually reached for her sidearm to do it once she realized that Dmitriy was seriously considering Quill’s plan. In the end, she had agreed only because Nebula had quietly reminded her that success would get them into the headquarters building effortlessly, while failure would simply mean that Quill would be the first to die. Marya had seen the logic of that. 

The only thing crazier than Quill’s plan was the fact that it had worked.

Hydra, in its unfathomable hubris, had taken the baroque Wallenstein Palace as its main headquarters. The Wallenstein Palace was once the home of the general who led the Imperial forces during the Thirty Years' War in the 1600’s. More recently, until Hydra took it over, it had been the home of the Senate of the Czech Republic. The “palace” is actually a complex of buildings and formal gardens, the buildings made of white stucco with red tile roofs featuring dormers at regular intervals. They have row upon row of windows, and since they’re now full to bursting with dickheads looking to consolidate Hydra’s control of Earth, the invaders have to assume that each of those windows holds an asshole with a gun.

Apparently, Hydra’s first order of business here has been to create the appearance of grandiose power. The main entrance to the (currently heavily fortified) palace is now the _sala terrena_ , a pillared loggia that gives onto the Wallenstein Garden. Wallenstein Garden covers two thirds of the area of the palace complex, which makes for a large area of open land surrounded on three sides by the building itself, that must be crossed before a visitor even gets near the entrance. Where there had been beautiful formal gardens, now there is a no-man’s-land littered with rubble, bomb craters, and the broken remains of statues lying at the feet of their shattered plinths.

The _sala terrena_ is fronted by three massive arches, each two stories high, with double pillars between them. Behind the arches, within the enclosed loggia itself, and at intervals along the broad stairs leading up to it are at least twenty Hydra guards in heavy body armor. They’re well-armed and appear ready to fight as they watch the mass of invaders approach. But Dmitriy has given all of the soldiers strict orders to walk slowly and remain quiet and calm, with weapons slung over shoulders or held muzzle-down. “Be as non-threatening as possible. Do not give Hydra any reason to shoot you. We need them to wonder what we are doing here.”

It appears that they’ve succeeded. Although they’re on extreme alert, the Hydra guards (and whoever might be in the windows) don’t open fire as Dmitriy’s forces surround the Palace.

Alone, Quill stands before the stairs in front of the massive arched entrance, calling out toward the cadre of nervous guards. 

“Yo, Hydra! Brought you a present!” Quill shouts.

The guards look at one another in confused shock while Quill continues to yell. “C’mon, don’t you know who I am? You must know me, the whole galaxy knows Star-Lord, huh? Don’t keep me waiting, especially when I’ve brought you certain victory over this stupid little planet!”

Finally, a guard who apparently has some authority gestures to three others, who don’t seem at all happy to be the ones who have to deal with this kook. At an apparent rebuke from their superior, they straighten up and start down the wide stairway to where Quill waits, looking every inch the galactic big-shot, shabbily treated by a backward planet’s yokels. By the time the guards reach him, they’ve shaken off their reluctance and become swaggering bullies approaching a wackjob who is probably about to die screaming while they laugh.

“Who the hell are you?” one of them asks, sneering as he looks Quill up and down. He has almost pumpkin-orange hair, which pokes out from underneath the flak helmet he wears. All three of the guards are burly and mean-looking, and all three have weapons trained on Quill. He, however, simply stands with his hands on his hips, then lifts them in disgusted exasperation.

“Seriously? Who the hell am _I_? What, did you guys just crawl out from under a rock or something? You lived in a cave until last week? I told you, I’m Star-Lord. Now let your leaders know I’m here, before I go interstellar on your ass. Asses. Whatever.”

“Why should we care? And who are all these –” At that moment, the orange-haired guard apparently notices Nebula, Gamora, and Drax for the first time. His face goes slack and very, very pale.

“Yeah. And the one in the middle? That’s my girlfriend. Told ya’,” Quill points to his own chest. “Star-Lord. Now go get someone who _isn’t_ a primitive numbnuts.”

The guards exchange stupid looks, then the orange-haired guard nudges another and tosses his head toward the entrance. The second guard begins to object, but orange-hair blurts, “ _Mach was ich sage_!”

“Yeah,” Quill orders imperiously. “Maka fish saga!” 

With a deeply skeptical look at Quill, the guard reluctantly turns away to walk slowly back to the _sala terrena._ The two remaining keep their weapons trained on Quill, who smiles with satisfaction and nods at them as though they’re all doing nothing more interesting than waiting in line for a buffet. He gestures toward the orange-haired guard.

“So. Ginger, huh? That had to suck when you were growing up. You get a lot of shit in school?”

“Shut up!” the guard barks, but he also goes almost instantly red, and his partner has to fight valiantly to supress his grin.

The rest of the conversation between Quill and the guards as the two forces wait for something to happen is equally intelligent. Despite the massive number of soldiers standing behind them and circling the building complex, the Liberators standing just behind Quill can hear everything perfectly. The look Marya shoots Dmitriy says everything she’s thinking about his decision to trust this critically important step of the battle to a man who is manifestly insane.

Dmitriy scowls at her and shakes his head sharply. Marya rolls her eyes and hisses to him in Spanish, “We are going to die here because of this imbecile, and it will be your fault. He cannot help his mental illness, but you have no excuse. I should have fought with the Avengers Initiative.”

“Yes, you should have. Then I would not have to listen to you.” 

“You can still fix this. Just let me shoot him, and we will say—”

“I will make a deal with you. You keep your opinions to yourself. Then, if we die here because of Peter Quill, I will admit that you were right and I was wrong.”

“In a lifetime of saying stupid things, my brother, that is the stupidest thing you have ever said.”

Dmitriy settles for giving her another dirty look. 

After an extremely long five minutes, something begins to happen at the entrance to the palace. The guards all stand ramrod-straight, facing forward and standing so still they could almost replace the broken statues throughout the garden. The Hydra guards with their weapons trained on Quill seem to feel the disturbance behind them, because they both turn to look. The guard who has not spoken up to now mutters an awed, “ _Ach du Scheiße! Es ist ihr_!”

The orange-haired guard turns to Quill with a face full of fear and actually backs a step away from him. The other guard quickly takes that as permission to do the same, as though whatever’s about to happen to Quill is so bad that they fear to be anywhere near him. They continue to steal looks back toward the _sala terrena_ as Quill and the rest of the Liberators see a group of five uniformed men and women striding purposefully toward them. The woman in the lead is wearing a uniform much like that of the guards, but it’s somehow far more imposing on her. There’s something inherently terrifying about her. Part of that is the amount of weaponry and armor she’s wearing, and part is her tight uniform, which accentuates her muscular frame and the predatory slink in her walk. But most of the air of menace about her comes from her severe, malevolent expression. 

She looks like she’s _hoping_ she gets to kill someone soon.

“ _Bосемь_ —” Dmitriy whispers.

“I see her,” Marya replies, so quietly only another supersoldier would be able to hear her. It’s all she can do not to recoil and hide behind Drax, standing next to her, even though she knows that the photostatic veil she’s wearing and the almost-black hair dye she’s applied will keep her anonymous.

As the woman advances threateningly upon the Liberators, Marya feels a shiver of revulsion pass through her. Cap has told plenty of horror stories about her, but one only has to look at this universe’s Marya to see that she is, indeed, death walking.

_Mach was ich sage_ \- Do what I say

 _Ach du Scheiße! Es ist ihr_! - Holy shit! It's her!

 _Bосемь -_ Eight

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What do you think? Please let me know by leaving a comment or coming to say hi on Tumblr. I'd love to hear from you!


	29. Battle for Earth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> All the forces that have gathered to rescue Cap's Earth from Hydra fight to accomplish their missions.

* * *

The three SHIELD agents have the remaining members of the STRIKE team pinned down, but can’t seem to hit them because the STRIKE guys have good cover under vehicles. Phil Coulson isn’t in the mood to stand back and watch. Not only does he want out of this garage and into Avengers Tower where he can join the real fight, he’s also concerned that the taser bullets will lose their charges and the STRIKE jerks they’ve already taken down will recover to join the shooting. 

He can’t let that happen. 

The parking garage under the Tower is comprised of ten sloping levels, each open to the level above on its upper half and to the level below on its lower. Coulson is on the level above the firefight and the STRIKE dirtbags are behind and underneath cars on the side nearest him, which means he can’t see them. He can, however, see his team, and they can see him. He motions to them to back away from their current positions, continuing to fire just enough to keep the STRIKE team where they are. Once the SHIELD agents are far enough away, he moves silently across the floor as far as he dares, pulling a tiny cannister from one of the many pockets in his windbreaker. Popping the lid, he tosses it lightly underhand so that it goes through the railing between the levels, falling onto the level below very near where the STRIKE dicks are continuing to fire on his team. 

They very quickly stop firing.

As soon as it’s clear they’re out of the fight, Coulson leaps over the railing onto the level below, a self-satisfied smile on his face.

“What’d you do?” asks Dan Thornton, the first agent to reach his position. Thornton still holds his weapon at the ready, moving carefully to keep vehicles between himself and the STRIKE shooters’ position. 

“Dendrotoxin. We’ve been working on an aerosol dispersion system,” Colson answers cheerfully. “Looks like it works.”

“Dendrotoxin? Like in I.C.E.R. rounds?”

“Yeah. So don’t go any closer for a few minutes. Let it disperse. Meantime, we gotta get these other idiots restrained before they regain control of their limbs.”

“And in this guy’s case, his bladder,” calls another agent, Kayla Isaacson, who’s already working to get magna-cuffs onto Jack Rollins. A second agent reaches another of the prone STRIKE team and begins the same process.

“Oh, man,” Coulson laughs. “You know, some days I really like my job.”

In moments, they have all of the STRIKE team magna-cuffed by their wrists and ankles.

“Have to get a sorcerer down here to get ‘em to the penitentiary,” Agent Isaacson observes.

“Yeah, that may not happen for a while,” Coulson tells the team. “You heard the garage lock down.”

He touches his comms and says, “Hill, we got the STRIKE team subdued. Where are we on control of the building?”

“Jarvis says half an hour.”

“What? Ten minutes ago, you said—”

“Look, I’m just telling you how it is. If it makes you feel any better, Stark is making up new swear words right now.”

“Well, tell him to use that energy to shut down Friday!”

“He’s aloft right now. Abominable Falcon and Spider Man have him and Sam pretty busy.”

“Yeah, I thought I was hearing blasting. All right. Guess we’ll have to improvise.” 

Coulson looks at the team, now standing around him. He notes that Agent Thornton isn’t among them. 

“Where’s Thornton?” he asks.

“Over here,” Thornton calls from a corner of this level, standing before a metal door with a red-lettered sign on it. As they watch, he presses his hand to the keyhole of a round lock just above a lever-type handle, then takes a step back. “Fire in the hole,” he says in a conversational tone. 

The tiny amount of plastic explosive he’s packed into the keyhole blows, and he picks at the remains of the lock before flicking the handle. With a grin at his teammates, he opens the door to a standpipe closet. “Voilá,” he grins. “Instant penitentiary.”

Coulson’s a little embarrassed at how much fun it is to drag the STRIKE team into the closet, handcuff them to each other, and zip-tie them to the pipes. They’re not going anywhere like that, especially because those knocked out by dendrotoxin are dead weight.

While Thornton then uses a mini-torch to lay a line of welding between the door and its metal frame, the rest of the team get to work looking for ways to get around the solid steel slabs that slammed down to cover every exit from the garage when it went into lockdown mode. 

It’s Agent Isaacson, standing in front of an exhaust fan taller than she is, who asks, “Hey, anyone know where this goes?”

“Just outside,” Coulson answers. “We need a way to get up there _without_ going outside.”

“Naw, man, not necessarily,” another agent, this one named Muhammad, says. He’s looking down at the screen of his cell phone.

“Meaning?” Coulson asks, cocking an eyebrow.

“Got the ventilation system for the building pulled up here,” Muhammad responds, holding up his phone. “It does go outside, but before it gets there, it’s joined by another duct that pulls stale air out from the lower floors.”

Coulson grins. “Can we use it?”

Isaacson is already pulling the protective grating from the fan enclosure. “Let’s see.”

When they manage to pull the fan apart enough to get past it, the team can see that the massive duct into which the fan sucks the air from the garage rises up to a dim height, with a bright rectangle on one side lighting the upper end. The duct’s far too wide for a person to climb by pressing their limbs to either side, even if any of them were inclined to try. 

Fortunately, SHIELD has a multitude of cool toys. One of them is a very small collapsible drone that can deliver a clasping mechanism attached to a rope. The clasp can be hooked onto just about anything solid enough to hold a human’s weight and Agent Penn, piloting the drone, uses it to find a place to secure a rope. There’s a stainless steel grate inside the louvers where the dirty air from the parking garage is pumped outside. Neither it nor the louvers look strong enough to take a person’s weight, but they fit into a sturdy housing that’s bolted to the building itself. It takes very little time before Penn has the rope secured to the housing and Muhammad is climbing up to determine whether they can use the duct system to get into the building.

Turns out, they can. 

Muhammad has to do a somewhat death-defying swing-jump maneuver to get from the rope to the other side of the main duct, where the outlet from the building joins it. He hangs from the side for a moment, then with a powerful kick, manages to pull himself up far enough to get a leg into the side duct, then maneuver himself in. Penn sends the drone up again. He unhooks the rope, then flies it across the duct to Muhammad, after which the rest of the team waits in an anxious suspense while Muhammad searches for something solid enough to hook it to. It’s a while before he succeeds, but ultimately, his quiet voice comes through their comms. 

“Okay, I got it set. C’mon up, but be advised – this place echoes like crazy. Gotta be hella quiet.”

“Copy that. I’m sendin’ Thornton up.” Coulson signals to Agent Thornton, who immediately jumps to grab hold of the rope and begins climbing. 

He’s about halfway to the side duct when the strangely distorted sound of a fight comes down to the waiting group of SHIELD agents. They hear Muhammad’s voice and some dull thuds – the unmistakable sound of hand-to-hand combat – before there are quick footsteps, a shout, and then Muhammad’s long scream as his body flies out of the side duct to fall to the base of the exhaust fan, right at the feet of the stunned SHIELD agents. 

As the others tend to Muhammad, Coulson looks past Thornton who is hanging on the rope, also looking up, watching as Abominable Clint Barton’s upper half emerges from the duct, bow already drawn. Barton fires toward the grate covering the huge duct outlet to the outside. There’s a cord attached to the arrow he shoots. Although Coulson can’t see it, the arrow tip is rigged with a mechanism that expands into six long, metal spikes. Coulson sees Barton yank hard on the cord, causing the spikes to catch against the metal, which pulls the grate out of its mounting and sends it tumbling down onto the small group of agents. It hits Isaacson on the back as she lays across Muhammad to protect him.

Barton doesn’t even look down, just reaches a second arrow from his quiver. This one explodes as it hits the louver on the right, blowing it out to leave an empty space open to the outside. Without hesitating, he jumps across the duct, which is easily six feet wide, catching the edge of the opening and swinging his legs over so that he’s sitting on the edge with his legs outside. Then he turns back and holds out an arm. Coulson hears a few footsteps before he sees Natasha Romanoff fling herself across the duct to catch Barton’s wrist. With that one arm, he swings her up to the edge, which she catches and levers herself over, apparently diving out of the opening. Barton then does something with his hand before shoving himself off the edge of the opening and out. A loud and echoing explosion sounds, followed almost instantly by smoke and debris shooting from the side duct. 

Coulson, still trying to comprehend what he’s just seen, looks up to where Thornton has again begun to climb. “How far—”

“It’s three stories, boss, but I’m sure they’re fine. I don’t get that lucky.” 

A few minutes later, as the agents on the ground work on Muhammad, Coulson watches Thornton reach the opening to the side duct. “Flamin’ shitballs,” comes his voice over the comms. “It’s no use, boss. They’ve collapsed it. We’ll have to find another way.”

Coulson watches him descend again until they’re standing next to each other. “How’s Muhammad?” is the first thing Thornton asks.

They both look down to see that all activity around Muhammad has ceased and his teammates are simply kneeling or stooping over him, heads down.

“He’s gone,” Isaacson whispers.

“Then let’s find a way to get the fuck up there and make someone pay,” Coulson growls, and crouches to move past the now-silent exhaust fan back into the garage. 

* * *  
  


Barnes reaches back and swings with all his might. It’s morbidly satisfying to see the lights go out in the Hydra soldier’s eyes. Almost as satisfying is the fact that he managed to knock him out between the toss of the shield and its return. 

“Did you just—” Rocket asks incredulously.

“Keep shooting,” Barnes barks.

“I can shoot and admire at the same time.”

“If you’re trying to flatter me to get my arm, the next projectile I throw is you.”

Rocket toggles some switches on his weapon and fires a mini-grenade into a nest of Hydra assholes across the large expanse of shattered cubicles, muttering under his breath the whole time.

Over his comms, Barnes gets a report from Agent Hill that Abominable War Machine has joined Abominable Falcon and Spider Man in the aerial battle going on with Tony and Sam above the Tower. They’re asking for the Hulk. Barnes quickly contacts Cap, who dispatches the Hulk to the roof. 

The fight’s been going on for almost an hour now, and the Liberators have only managed to clear the top ten floors of the Tower. They’ve been able to do that much only because those floors are ultra-secure and were sparsely populated to begin with. Three STRIKE teams are out of the fight, but the other two are fully engaged, although Rocket’s grenade has just taken out part of one.

* * *

One floor down, Cap is fighting the other STRIKE team, which is Brock Rumlow’s team Alpha. The loss of the Hulk is gonna hurt. Cap contacts Thor, who’s currently in the penthouse, in the process of trying to get control of Pepper Potts. Thor advises that it might take him a few minutes to come to Cap’s assistance, because although her Extremis-powered superstrength is no problem for him, they have to figure out how to disable a woman whose arms and hands can reach the temperature of molten lava at will. 

“Volstagg had a hold of her, but she set his undergarments aflame. Oh, he is fine, not to worry – he was able to disrobe before being more than a bit singed. But he is now fighting naked. Quite disturbing.”

“Yeah, Thor, thanks for that visual. Just get here, all right?” Cap snaps.

“We shall. In fact, I can send Volstagg now, if you like.”

“Do it. I don’t care what he’s wearing.”

“He is not wearing—”

“Thor! Just send him!” Cap cries, just as he leaps over the heads of three advancing STRIKE soldiers, one of whom is Rumlow. Cap twists in mid-air, coming to land behind them and clouting one of them a good blow with his left shield gauntlet. That one’s down, but the other two whirl around and Cap has to block multiple rounds with his gauntlets as he dives for cover. 

There isn’t much cover here. On the research and development floors above, all the work counters were made of some kind of titanium alloy, to withstand the fires and explosions that routinely occurred as they tested new things. Here, there are only desks and other office furniture that won’t really block a bullet, so they all have to keep on the move in hopes of not being hit. 

All, that is, except for T’Challa. The Black Panther presents quite a challenge to the Hydra fighters, because his suit is impervious to bullets. In fact, they’re starting to figure out from the way it glows purple that he’s somehow _absorbing_ the energy of the bullets to use against them. He doesn’t need cover; he simply chooses one or two Hydra fools and approaches them, ignoring the gunfire, then easily dispatches them. The enemy’s fear of the Black Panther is making it possible for Cap and the rest of the team to function without much cover, but it’s still a vicious, bloody battle. 

* * *

Barnes gets quick reports from Agent Hill every few minutes, so he knows that this universe’s T’Challa and his forces – from the Wakandas of both Barnes’s universe and Bucky’s – will soon have control of Hydra’s main base in Africa. Hydra has taken over both the old and the new Presidential Palaces in Khartoum. The Liberators have already taken control of the old Presidential Palace, but they’re still fighting for control of the new Palace. It’s only a matter of time, though. Hydra simply doesn’t have anything that can defeat Wakanda’s technologically superior weaponry, which they had no idea existed until today. Thor has advised the Liberators that it exists in this universe, as well, but after careful discussion, they’ve decided to hold it in reserve. If all goes well, they won’t have to expose the secret of this universe’s Wakanda. 

In China, the General has now overcome the clusterfuck at the arrival of the Liberators’ forces, and they’ve begun making progress there. Things still stand on a razor’s edge in Prague, but Barnes still has hope that Quill will come through. Even if he doesn’t, Barnes knows what the Troops can do, and they have most of the Guardians of the Galaxy with them, as well as a sizeable army. They can still get the job done.

The team at The Raft, however, is not faring well. They’re not likely to succeed in taking back the underwater prison from Hydra. Barnes has given Hill orders to pull them out if it gets much worse. 

In the meantime, he’s got his own battle to fight. He’s wondering where the hell Abominable Barton and Romanoff are. The SHIELD force that entered from below has now taken positions behind the Hydra forces defending the lobby, pinning them between the two groups of Liberators. SHIELD and the Ravagers should have control of the bottom of the Tower soon, _if_ Barton and Romanoff don’t appear down there and fuck things up. 

Because it doesn’t look like they’re gonna be able to spring Rocket’s trap. Friday still controls many of the functions of the building, and she and Jarvis are in somewhat of a standoff right now. Jarvis can cut the power, but Friday can set off the sprinkler system, which will shut every fire door in the Tower. She can then lock them so that nobody can get through. Sure, it’ll trap the Hydra forces and the Abominable Avengers other than those in the air. But it’ll also trap the Liberators, who will essentially be prisoners until Hydra reinforcements can arrive. Tony and Jarvis have decided to focus on cutting off Hydra’s communications, instead. That will swing the pendulum decidedly in the Liberators’ favor. Unfortunately, that leaves Agent Coulson and his team to fend for themselves getting out of the parking garage, but for now it can’t be helped.

The last reports Barnes is getting are of rebellions all over the planet. As soon as news of the Liberators’ attacks began to spread, many of the citizens of Earth armed themselves and began to fight, too. It’s heartening, although there have already been deaths as Hydra hasn’t hesitated to use its hideous weapons indiscriminately. Terror has always been its greatest weapon, and Hydra does not react well when _it’s_ the one terrified. Barnes shakes off the thought that this is going to be a very costly day.  


* * *  
  


Even Marya is impressed with Peter Quill’s ability to remain outwardly calm as her evil counterpart reaches him. Abominable Marya looks him up and down, then simply stands about five feet in front of him, waiting. If she is thinking or feeling, there’s no sign of it in her granite scowl. Marya notes that the four soldiers with her are all Troops. She had suspected as much just from the way they moved as they walked from the _sala terrena_ to their current position. One of them is the Abominable counterpart of one of the Troops here with the Liberators’ force, and Marya is glad once again for the precaution they’ve taken of wearing photostatic veils. 

Far more disturbing is that two of the Troops with Abominable Marya are Troops who have died in Marya’s own universe. One is the woman murdered by their Hydra captors in Siberia just before the Avengers reached the bunker to rescue them. The other is a man who was killed during that rescue. Marya has to look away from them. Fortunately, she has the distraction of wondering why none of these Troops is Dmitriy’s Abominable counterpart. She wonders where he is. 

“So, hey,” Quill smiles at Abominable Marya. “You must be the welcoming committee. Nice hair, by the way.” He indicates the blonde patch in her hair, which is gathered into a thick, complex knot at the back of her head that appears to involve multiple braids. She doesn’t react. In fact, the only reaction is by one of the Troops behind her, who narrows her eyes just enough to indicate disgust.

“I’m Star-Lord, of course. And you are?”

At last, Abominable Marya blinks. “I am the Commander,” she tells him, in a voice that sends chills down the spines of half the people who hear her, including her own forces. “I will kill you in ten seconds unless by then you have convinced me you should live.”

“Huh,” Quill laughs with a quirk of his eyebrows. “Get right to the point, don’t you? Well, okay. You don’t wanna kill me ‘cause I’ve brought you an army.” He indicates the forces arrayed behind him and surrounding the palace complex. “You’re welcome.”

Marya – the Commander – narrows her eyes and snarls, “Why?”

“That is an excellent question. And the answer’s a little complicated. Why don’t you invite me in, and we’ll talk about it?”

“You now have _five_ seconds.”

“Oh, for cripe’s sake. You know, they said you were a bitch, but I was willing to give you the benefit of the doubt because that’s just the sort of kind and generous guy I am. I gotta tell you, you’re not making a very good first impression. If you and I are gonna be lovers, you’re gonna have to—”

Quill will tell the story of the next fraction of a second for years to come. The way he tells it, there was no time between his last word and the realization that she had him by the hair with a knife at his throat, and she didn’t move to get there. The thing is, nobody who was there can really dispute that, because it’s pretty much what happens. 

Not one of the Troops on the Liberators’ side miss the fact that, as fast as their Marya is, this one is much faster. 

“Captain America is invading this planet as we speak, and without us, you’re gonna get butt-fucked!” Quill squeaks so fast that it all seems like one word. 

The Commander doesn’t relax her hold, but she lifts her knife about a millimeter from Quill’s throat so that he can speak. “Who are you? How do you know that? Why would you care?”

Quill earns Marya’s respect in that moment as he actually rolls his eyes and scoffs, despite being in the literal grip of the most frightening woman she’s ever seen. Marya, herself, wouldn’t be able to manage it. “Ferfucksake. My name is Star-Lord, I know about it because I know everything, and I care because I’m from here and I like Hydra’s style. And listen, if you’re gonna pull my hair like that, you could at least buy me a drink first. I’m not that easy.”

“He is absolutely that easy,” Nebula mutters, and for the first time there’s a flicker of reaction on the Commander’s face as she looks past Quill at his companions. 

She stays exactly as she is, completely still, as she takes in each of them, her eyes resting on Dmitriy for longer than any of the others, even those who are obviously not human. Her hold on Quill and the knife at his throat don’t change as she barks at Nebula, “You. Speak.” 

“We are here to offer our protection to Hydra. He is our” – she gulps – “leader.”

“How many are you?” the Commander demands.

“I don’t know. We had to move fast. There was no opportunity to count.” 

The complete lack of expression in Nebula’s face or her voice seems to resonate with the Commander, who lets go of Quill so quickly he stumbles. 

“Hey!” he cries with injured pride. None of the Abominable Troops appears to notice. In fact, none of them have reacted – or even moved – since the one woman narrowed her eyes at Quill. The Commander is still looking at Nebula.

“Bring her,” she says, and turns to walk back toward the _sala terrena._ Her Troops appear to have no question that she means for them to bring Nebula and follow her. As she passes the two guards who had initially spoken with Quill, she hisses, “If any of the others move, kill them.” 

While Nebula allows herself to be disarmed – or so it appears, although she still has a host of weapons both on and _in_ her person – Quill objects. Two of the Abominable Troops begin to take Nebula’s arms, but she shakes them off and stalks behind the Commander. They’re not intimidated by her glare, but it’s obvious she’s going to follow the Commander willingly, so they let her. One of the other Troops can be heard speaking into a comm unit, presumably passing the Commander’s orders to the rest of the Hydra fuckwads guarding the Palace. 

“Hey! I’m the leader here!” Quill shouts as he jogs to catch up with the Commander, who neither slows nor acknowledges him, but also doesn’t try to stop him from accompanying them. “If there’s gonna be a high-level meet and greet, I’m the highest level there is.”

His voice can be heard wheedling and jabbering all the way into the Palace.

Marya shares a look with Dmitriy, who then looks to Gamora. There’s no reason to say out loud what they’re all thinking. 

_It’s begun_.

Drax, however, turns to Marya. “I am very surprised by that Commander’s behavior.”

“We _were_ warned that she’s, um…” Marya flicks a look at the Hydra guards and lowers her voice. “Violent,” she whispers.

“Yes,” Drax nods, speaking as loudly as always. “It has been many years since I have seen such a feminine woman. But I do not think her flirtation with Quill was appropriate in public, especially around her subordinates.”

Marya and several others around them turn to gape at Drax. Marya, nonplussed, replies, “Feminine? Flirtation? She grabbed him by the hair and held a knife to his throat.”

“Yes. On Kylos, such an intimate display would have been very shocking.”

Gamora frowns and approaches Drax. “But you told us that one of your family traditions was your father telling the story of impregnating your mother.”

“Yes. A beautiful, demure family story. But to expose another’s throat by pulling the hair and threaten them with a knife! Before others! Shameless. Such intimacy is for the bedroom.” 

No one can think of a single response.  
  


* * *  
  


Bucky’s team, meanwhile, has been quietly and covertly exploring the floors of Avengers Tower below the fighting, using stealth and Mantis’s ability to sense emotion to determine which floors are inhabited. If there are many people on a floor, they bypass that floor and continue downward. When they confirm that a floor is clear of anyone, they use shaped charges to seal off the elevators and stairwell doors. It won’t stop Abominable Barton or Romanoff from getting onto those floors, but that’s a problem for later. 

They’re using the stairs, which means they meet a few enemies along the way. Those are quickly dispatched, and the team hides the bodies on the next floor they explore. 

Bucky’s team doesn’t have a sorcerer, or anyone capable of transporting a Hydra operative anywhere, so they simply kill those unfortunates who run into them. As much as he loved Steve, and as much as he likes Cap, Bucky’s always found the whole “minimum force necessary” thing kind of annoying. This is easier. Besides, between what Hydra did to him, and what these assholes did to Cap, Bucky’s really not too bothered by ridding the world of them.

Thus far, they’ve bypassed two floors of the Tower as having too many people on them, and managed to clear and seal off six. They’re mostly residential floors, including those where the Abominable Avengers have their quarters, and most of the inhabitants are busy defending the Tower. 

When they reach the 74th floor, Mantis can feel that it’s occupied by more than two people, but not many. She can’t be more specific than that, but Bucky decides that’s good enough odds for him. He takes point, checking as far as he can see through a stairwell door that’s only open a crack. The hallway before him is clear, so he flattens himself against a wall and begins easing down the hall, with the rest of the team behind. 

The first door they come to is locked, but that’s no challenge for Bucky’s metal hand. It’s some kind of training room. It’s huge, taking up about half the space on this floor, and it’s empty. They move on. There’s an opening to the left, in the wall along which the team is moving. Bucky’s about to swing his weapon around the corner, hoping to surprise whoever might be there, when Groot steps up beside him and stops him. 

Bucky looks a question at him, but then he gets it. Groot’s not particularly bothered by bullets. He simply steps around Bucky to stand, limbs at his sides, in the entrance to what turns out to be an open area with a few rows of workspaces, ringed by offices. The offices all have half-walls with glass above, and in one of them, Groot sees a head duck quickly down behind the wall. He strides across the open area toward the office. “I am Groot,” he calls to Bucky, Mantis, and the three soldiers from New Asgard that make up the rest of the team.

They carefully come around the corner to see Groot try the door to the office. When he finds it locked, he simply punches a hole in the glass and reaches in to open the door, revealing four people – three women and a man – huddled against the wall beneath the window. 

“I am Groot,” he greets them pleasantly. They simply stare, dumbfounded, at the walking, talking tree in the doorway. 

Bucky’s not so pleasant when he enters the office, after he and the team check the others and find them empty. He lifts the man up and off his feet by his collar and tie, scowling fiercely and demanding, “Is this everyone on this floor?”

The man’s so terrified he can’t speak, but Groot holds out a hand toward the women, still huddling against the wall, and asks, “I am Groot?”

One woman with gray hair in a neat bun on top of her head answers, “We… we don’t know. It’s everyone from our division. Everybody else ran. Look, we’re not soldiers, or scientists. We just do the trainings. You know, sexual harassment, diversity, that kind of thing. Please don’t kill us.” She reminds Bucky of Steve’s mom, a little, and he believes her. He sets the man down on his feet and, keeping a good hold on his arm, turns to Mantis. 

“What do you think?” he asks, and she reaches out to touch the man on his arm. She closes her eyes. After a moment, she moves on to the women, and does the same to each of them as they take in her glowing antennae with eyes almost as big as Mantis’s own. 

“They are terrified, and there is regret,” she tells Bucky. “I do not think they want any of this. You can let them go.”

He lets go of the man, frowning. “Not sure there’s anywhere for them _to_ go, though. There’s fighting above and below.”

“Look, mister, we’ll just stay here. We won’t do anything!” the man cries, wiping sweat from his forehead before running his fingers back through his combover.

Bucky doesn’t like leaving them here, but he also can’t kill people who are no threat and apparently not interested in hailing Hydra. So he steps up close to the man, who backs up until he hits the desk. “You do _anything_ besides sit here quietly, Mantis’ll know about it.”

She begins to contradict him, but Groot scowls her into silence.

“If I have to come back here…” 

The man appears to be imagining the rest of that sentence as Bucky backs slowly away from him, continuing to give the man his best Winter Soldier glare. 

The team seals the elevator and stairwell doors, then moves on to the next floor down.  
  


* * *

  
Unfortunately for Cap’s team, Hydra reinforcements arrive before Volstagg does. They were already hard pressed, but now there are so many bad guys on this floor that even with the Black Panther, they’re losing ground. They’ve lost one of the _Dora Milage_ guards and two Asgardian soldiers. Cap’s down to one _Dora Milage_ guard, two Border Tribe warriors, the sorcerer, and two Asgardians, in addition to himself and T’Challa. The Black Panther is tearing men apart now, and “minimum force necessary” has become head shots, but there are still too many Hydra fucks. 

Cap sees Rumlow aim for the sorcerer, who is using her glowing amber shield to deflect fire from another STRIKE asshole shooting at her from the other side of the room. It pisses him off. He’s never liked Rumlow – he doesn’t know many people who do – and getting pushed back by this group of traitors and masochistic sickos is really getting to him. Cap takes two running steps, lands with one foot on a desk lying on its side, and launches himself. He lands on Rumlow with the shield gauntlets retracted, so that he can pummel him with his fists. For a very satisfying minute or so, he does.

But too soon, there’s a commotion behind him, and he turns to see Abominable Black Widow – God knows where she came from – landing some serious blows to T’Challa’s head with her batons. With him occupied, the remaining members of Cap’s team are hideously vulnerable. He needs to finish Rumlow so he can come to their aid. 

As he’s doing his best to beat Rumlow into oblivion, he hears one of the Asgardians give a pained shout, then go quickly quiet as a burst of gunfire sounds. T’Challa yells something in enraged Xhosa, and Rumlow lands a solid left to Cap’s temple as his attention is diverted by seeing the sorcerer go down under three STRIKE dirtbags. 

When he hears the _thwish_ of an arrow and a wet thud, he misses a beat and gets Rumlow’s knife in his shoulder. He wonders if he’s about to die here, immediately followed by the thought that if he gets killed without getting to kiss Jim Barnes again, he’s gonna haunt the shit out of this Tower.   
  


* * *

  
“You gotta be kiddin’ me,” Phil Coulson exclaims, shaking his head. “A _car wash_? In an underground parking garage?”

“Oh, not just a car wash, boss. ‘TLC for your ride,’ the sign says. They do detailing. The price list’ll make your eyes pop out – Stark must be payin’ his people –”

“Penn? Do you think we could keep our minds on the mission for a bit? I really don’t care if the car wash in this place is expensive. What I care about is whether we can use it to get out of here.”

“Well, yeah. Gonna be a bit of a job, though. We’re gonna have to shimmy up some pretty narrow spaces, and we’ll have to cut our way through in at least two places. But we can do it.”

Coulson touches his comms. “Hill?”

At the same time as he asks, “How’s Jarvis doing with Friday?” he hears Maria Hill say it, too. 

“Don’t be rude, Agent Hill.”

“Then stop calling me every two minutes. When I know anything, you’ll know it.”

Coulson sighs, then turns to Penn. “Guess we’re climbing. Let’s go.”  
  


* * *  
  


Peter Quill looks around the Main Hall, with its rows of arched windows pouring sunlight onto the tile floor. The ornately carved, coved ceiling is white with gold accents, and a massive mural running down its center. It’s some dude in a chariot, and Quill idly wonders where he’s going in such a hurry. But then his eyes are drawn to the huge, fancy white fireplace at the front of the room, with a statue and a bunch of doo-dads on it. To one side, there’s a guy sitting at the biggest desk Quill’s ever seen, with a number of what can only be bodyguards standing at attention around him. There’s some kind of a platform in front of the big fireplace, upon which sits a gilded, old-timey looking chair with bright red upholstery.

The man at the desk looks up as the group walks up a wide aisle between rows of what look to Quill like old-fashioned movie theater seats filling both sides of the enormous room. Quill supposes the guy must give speeches from his fancy, raised chair or something. The whole thing strikes him as _way_ overdone. Like a place those snooty, gold Sovereign would love. 

“This room is great,” Quill enthuses to Abominable Marya. “It’s about the size of this roller rink I used to go to when I was a kid. Rollerama, it was called. They had this disco ball and when they had the couples skate, we –”

“Silence!” Marya hisses, and for once, telling Quill to shut up works.

By the time they reach the front of the room, the man from the desk is sitting in the elevated chair. He’s a handsome man, with silver hair that looks like somebody spends a lot of time on it. Quill immediately decides he’s a douche and starts to mess with him.

“So, you got, like, a little throne thing goin’ here,” he says, before getting Marya’s fist in his gut. While he’s doubled over, she shoves a knee into the back of his legs and he finds himself kneeling, holding his stomach. “Jeez!” he wheezes. “I’m tryna make a good impression here!”

Marya whips out a pistol from somewhere, aiming it at Quill’s head. She looks up at the man on the throne, who simply smiles benevolently and waves a hand. Marya doesn’t shoot, but she doesn't put the gun away, either. She simply keeps it trained on Quill. 

“This one says he’s their leader, but I suggest speaking with this one, Sir,” she tells the man, indicating Nebula. 

The man looks up and Nebula steps forward to stand on the opposite side of Quill from Abominable Marya. 

“Do you know who I am?” the man asks, apparently unconcerned with her appearance.

“No.” 

There’s the slightest stir as Marya’s squad of Troops and the man’s guards react to the blunt answer, but the man acts unperturbed. “I am Gideon Malick, Ruler Supreme of Earth.”

Nebula stands as still as any of the Troops, only blinking a few times in the long silence that follows.

“You’re supposed to introduce yourself now,” Quill croaks to Nebula.

“My name is Nebula,” she tells Malick. 

“My staff tells me that you’re aware of the attack on my planet, and that you and your friend here have brought me quite a gift.” He leans his elbows on the arms of his chair and tents his fingers as though in careful consideration. Quill decides he’s a pretentious twat, and decides not to kill him. _Let’s see how cool he thinks he is when he’s rotting in The Raft_ , he thinks.

“This man is Peter Quill. He is the leader of the Guardians of the Galaxy, and he is from this planet. He wishes to assist Hydra to keep control of it.”

“And why should I believe that? Why shouldn’t I just have my forces wipe out the rabble surrounding my Palace?”

“I don’t care,” Nebula answers, and everything about her says that’s true.

After staring blankly at her for several beats, Malick throws his head back and laughs heartily, and for a long time. When he calms down, he beams down at her as if he might offer her a lollipop for being a star student. “Thank you, Nebula. Not many people can surprise me anymore. Are you telling me that there is no reason for me not to clean the streets of these people?”

“ _I_ don’t care what happens to them. But _you_ should. You’re aware of the attack on Hydra. Do you know who’s behind it?”

“I’m told the rebels are led by Captain America.”

“They are. But they’re not just rebels. They’re invaders. You’ve heard of alternate universes?”

Quill sees Abominable Marya go rigid beside him, but Malick scoffs. “You’re telling me Captain America’s brought an army from another universe?”

“Multiple armies from two other universes, in addition to a legion from Asgard. And he’s gathered all the forces on this planet that oppose Hydra.”

“Basically, you’re hosed,” Quill tells him, sounding as though he’s still feeling Marya’s blow to his abdomen.

Marya pulls back the hand holding her pistol, but Malick stops her with a word. “Commander.”

Quill can’t help but think she looks disappointed that she doesn’t get to backhand him. 

Malick is intrigued now. “Go on, please, Nebula.”

“Quill has brought the Guardians of the Galaxy to your rescue, as well as all the soldiers loyal to Hydra he could find in Europe.”

“I have all the military of Europe at my command. Who are these people?” Malick keeps his face placid, but the manic interest in his eyes is unmistakable. 

Even Quill has to admit that Nebula springs the trap with perfect timing.

“You do _not_ have all the military of Europe at your command. The military of Europe claim allegiance to you, but they are loyal to someone who calls himself Baron von Strucker.” 

“What?!” 

“There is a fortress in Novi Grad. He –”

“I know where Strucker is! And I will destroy him!” Malick jumps up from his throne and is suddenly a different man. Red-faced, pacing, he shouts to a small man in an outdated and ill-fitting suit Quill hadn’t noticed before, with a much smaller desk behind and to the side of the one at which Malick had sat. The man has gray hair, but it seems to be prematurely gray, because looking at his face, he appears only to be in his mid-forties. 

“Parnasse, how quickly can we get a team of Troops to Sokovia?”

For the next ten minutes, all Quill and Nebula have to do is watch as Malick and Hydra’s overwhelming paranoia do all their work for them. Quill struggles not to smirk – Quill often struggles not to smirk, but it’s worse at the moment – as Malick convinces himself that Baron von Strucker has betrayed him. Inevitably, he decides that it’s true, because it’s what Malick himself would do. It’s what any Hydra prick would do, given half a chance, and anyone with any experience of Hydra knows it. 

Nebula's obvious non-human origins only strengthen the charade. This Earth has only rudimentary space travel, certainly not inter-universal travel, so it stands to reason that she and her companions could have information about the invasion. Not to mention that her story squares with everything Hydra knows about it so far. It would, of course, because except for the part about Baron von Strucker, it's the plain truth.

“Commander, how sure are you of these Troops of yours?” Malick demands suddenly, the suspicion thick in his voice. 

At last, a reaction from Abominable Marya. She clearly does _not_ appreciate the implication. “Sir, my Troops are the most loyal servants Hydra has ever had. We have been raised from young children to be Hydra’s own enhanced army.”

“Strucker is Hydra, too.”

With a glare of hate-filled rage that Quill can see frightens even Malick, the Fist of Hydra growls from between gritted teeth, “He is Hydra, but he is not _my_ superior. Need I remind you of the things we – _I –_ have done to make _you_ Supreme Ruler? Or shall I pass another test for you?”

The tone of her voice and Malick’s reaction tell Quill that whatever she’s referring to, it’s a loaded question. It satisfies Malick. “That won’t be necessary. For the moment. What is necessary is that, when we are done here, you take a squad and eliminate Strucker and his entire fortress. I want it wiped off the face of my Earth, do you understand me?”

“Готовы соответствовать”, she replies coldly.

Malick’s next order of business is to call for the leader of his personal army, the one deployed throughout the Palace, its buildings, and its grounds. It’s a few minutes before he arrives, during which Malick paces and all but raves, spooling himself up to a frenzy of paranoia. When the man arrives, still straightening the braid on one shoulder of his showy uniform, he’s clearly nervous. 

Malick is sitting on his ridiculous throne, now wearing his placid expression once again. It’s the thinnest veneer over his panic, however, and no one in the massive room is fooled.

“Marshal Beckett. Tell me about Baron von Strucker,” Malick orders.

Beckett opens and closes his mouth a few times, attempting to speak but making no words at first. Finally, he manages, “I don’t understand. Baron von Strucker is the –”

“Yes, I _know_ who he is, you imbecile, I’m asking you whether he is also your master.”

“My… Ruler Supreme , _you_ are my master. You are Ruler Supreme of this entire planet. I serve you, and Hydra, as do all those under my command.”

Malick simply looks at him for a moment, then pronounces quietly, “I don’t believe you.” He looks at Abominable Marya. “Kill him.”

The Commander finally gets to use the pistol she’s had aimed at Quill this entire time. She calmly, expertly, shoots Beckett in the head, then returns to aiming at Quill. 

“Put that gun away, Commander. Mr. Quill is our guest.”

“I’m actually called Star-Lord—”

“Please stand, Mr. Quill. I apologize for this unpleasantness, but I am sorry to say that I was unaware of Strucker’s treachery. And Beckett’s.” He casually indicates the body lying on the floor two feet from him. 

Quill stands, making a show of brushing off his pants. 

“Adler!” Malick barks, startling Quill. One of the bodyguards arrayed around Malick steps forward crisply. “You are now Marshal of my forces, which consist of the soldiers surrounding my Palace. Use them to clear out the treacherous filth infecting it now, and replace the turncoats with the loyal forces Mr. Quill has brought me.”

“Sir!” the guard called Adler acknowledges, then immediately turns to leave the Main Hall and begin his work.

Before an hour has passed, every Hydra guard who is not one of the Abominable Troops is gone from Wallenstein Palace. Quill chooses not to question where. He’s heard a lot of gunshots. He watches with unconcealed smugness as, by their leader’s own command, the Hydra forces are replaced by Liberators, including Dmitriy, Marya, Gamora, and Drax. 

“ _Me debes veinte euros_ ,” Dmitriy murmurs to Marya as they pass one another in the _sala terrena._ Dmitriy is following Malick to another part of the Wallenstein Palace, because he is now a member of Malick’s personal guard. Marya, leading a squad of fighters assigned to the first shift “protecting” the Palace from outside, mutters “ _Cállate_ ” under her breath. She knows better than to bet against Dmitriy, and she should have trusted his judgment about Quill. Still, she plans to argue that it had actually been Nebula who had made the plan work.

That argument will have to wait, however, until Abominable Marya and her team are safely out of the Palace and on their way to Novi Grad, where Liberator Marya doubts they’ll give poor Baron von Strucker a chance to deny his treachery before being executed, along with everyone else in his Fortress. She has to admit that tricking Hydra into doing the Liberators’ work in Sokovia had been entirely Quill’s idea. It’s so deliciously devious that Marya decides she’ll buy Quill a drink for it when this is over.

But she still isn’t going to pay Dmitriy without a fight. 

_Готовы соответствовать -_ Ready to comply

 _Me debes veinte euros._ \- You owe me twenty euros.

 _Cállate_ \- Shut up

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Got something to say about the story? I want to hear it! Please comment, or come say hi to me on Tumblr!


	30. Nasty Surprises

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Liberators mostly have control of the Tower, but comms are jacked up. When he sees that Cap's been injured, Barnes has a strong reaction. Then, Tony contacts Barnes to tell him that their worst fears have come true.

* * *

There are a few more _thwish_ sounds, each one followed by a scream or other noise indicating that Abominable Hawkeye is killing Cap’s team. Cap says out loud, “The hell with it” and engages his shield gauntlets. As Cap gives him a final, brutal punch, the vibranium “claws” and pointed end of his right gauntlet all but sever Rumlow’s head from his body. Ignoring the spray of blood, Cap jumps up, already whirling to take on Abominable Clint Barton.

Except it’s not Abominable Clint Barton. 

Hanging from the vent opening in the ceiling is the Hawkeye from Barnes’s universe, and he’s taking out STRIKE guys as fast as he can fit arrows to his bow. Those left are desperately trying to get away from Hawkeye’s arrows and the bullets of the Wakandans and Asgardians, fighting their way to the exits from this floor. It’s a bad idea. Black Panther is at one of the doors, expending his fury at the death of his Wakandan teammates, and Volstagg has arrived at the other, buck naked and covered in blood from swinging his battle axe through anyone who gets close enough.

Cap sees that Abominable Natasha Romanoff lies dying, using both hands to pull weakly at the arrow through her throat, almost directly underneath Clint. The malice in her eyes is unmistakable, even now. As his teammates finish STRIKE team Alpha, Cap stays where he is, watching her die. Despite lying in most of her own blood, she’s capable of shooting at him, throwing a Widow’s Bite, or committing some other last, savage act.

“Why, Natasha?” Cap asks, loudly enough to carry over the last sounds of the fight. He lets his pain show in his face, and it’s obvious in his voice. 

She doesn’t answer – probably can’t, given the amount of blood coming from her mouth – but she does give him a sneer with her bloody lips. She lifts one hand from the arrow in her throat, lowering her fist to aim a Widow’s Sting at him from the bracelet on her wrist.

She dies, arm flopping to the floor, before she can fire it.

Clint drops down from the ceiling, looking like he’s moving in slow motion as he gracefully flips in mid-air to land on his feet next to Abominable Black Widow’s body. Surprisingly, he pulls a jacket from one of the dead STRIKE dickheads, then gently pulls the arrow from her throat and uses the jacket to cover her face.

“It’s still Tasha,” he says quietly to Cap.

Cap nods, in full agreement and too close to tears for words, and places a hand on Clint’s shoulder.

From the doorway, Volstagg calls in his booming shout, “Where to next, Captain Rogers?”

He’s grinning ear to ear, even though he’s bruised in several places, has a few superficial burns, and Cap thinks at least a little of the blood on the expanse of his exposed pale flesh is his. Appreciating the distraction, Cap tilts his head. “Don’t you want to find some clothes?”

Volstagg looks down at himself and shrugs. “I suppose it would be a bit more protection. I must say, though, I understand now why my ancestors always fought nude. It’s allows for such freedom of movement!”

* * *

It’s clear the moment Jarvis begins to get the upper hand over Friday. For one thing, Barnes sees the Hulk freefall from somewhere up above the floor Barnes is on, landing on War Machine and wrenching his upper half cruelly to the left. The AI should be able to figure out how to compensate for the extreme added weight and mechanical torque. Instead, War Machine’s armor simply continues to produce thrust, and Barnes watches as the Hulk jumps off to cling to the side of the Chrysler building just before War Machine crashes into it at full speed with a surprisingly big explosion. Most of the force goes upward, leaving the building largely unscathed, except that it takes out about twenty feet of the very point of the spire and, of course, the spike on top.

Barnes knows the top of the Chrysler building isn’t usable space, so he doubts anyone except Abominable Rhodes was hurt. Still, he’s glad he’s not the one who has to deal with the public relations nightmare of being involved with defacing a national icon.

Another way he knows Jarvis is gaining control of the building is the reports he’s getting about the fight in the lobby. The defensive systems meant to protect the Tower’s main entrance haven’t been engaged up to now, because detecting and aiming at threats takes a lot of bandwidth, and Friday had needed to prioritize the struggle with Jarvis. There are also live Hydra forces assigned to assure no one gets in that way. But the SHIELD agents have been manually uploading the locations of Hydra shooters to Jarvis all morning. Now, the SHIELD teams are reporting that Jarvis is using that information to target Hydra positions with every last one of the weapons built into the ultramodern decor. The Hydra defenders were at first delighted to see the systems finally engage; now they’re dismayed to see the systems turn on _them._

Barnes can hear Rocket cackling from somewhere to his left as the reports come in. The little whatever-Rocket-is has turned out to be kind of a malicious menace. Barnes thinks it probably says something bad about him that he likes Rocket so much.

Barnes can also tell Hydra has no comms because he can hear the mooks he’s fighting on the sixtieth floor right now bitching about it. It’s close-quarters combat on this floor, which is a warren of offices and other spaces separated by walls inserted seemingly at random. The horrible layout provides all kinds of hiding places, which the team has to clean out one by one. That’s bad enough, but it’s made so much worse by this asswipe Deadpool, who seems to have focused on Barnes and apparently never got the memo about shutting the fuck up so you don’t give your position away during a fight. 

And Deadpool has a _mouth_ on him. 

So did Ant-Man, but Rocket managed to take him out with a hastily-assembled booby trap that hooked his suit into the building’s arc reactor. Ant-Man made it clear he was drinking the Hydra kool-aid, but even as much of a dickhole as he was, Barnes winces just thinking about how he died. Rocket didn’t tell him until _afterward_ that he’d had to be very careful to disengage the suit from the power as soon as it was permanently disabled, so that it didn’t cause some kind of fucked-up explosion that would’ve disrupted quantum physics or some shit. Barnes had ordered Rocket to demonstrate that there was no further danger, and _not_ to explain any more how close he had come to destroying the planet they were trying to liberate.

But that was Ant-Man. This Deadpool is a whole other level of crazy. 

As annoying as Deadpool is, Barnes’ main worry at the moment – now that he knows Cap is temporarily safe again – is that no one has seen Nick Fury. Barnes has heard enough about the director of SHIELD to know that is _not_ good. It’s possible he’s gone to ground under a dam somewhere, but Barnes doubts someone like that would really sit this one out. He’s here somewhere, and whatever he’s doing, it’s not likely to be for the Liberators’ benefit. 

Barnes winces as he hears Deadpool’s voice again, this time from closer than it had been a few minutes before. “Hey, um… I know we just met and everything, but why don’t we settle this with a nice round of mutual masturbation? Whoever comes first wins?”

“I am going to shove this entire shield into your disgusting mouth,” Barnes snarls back, listening carefully for sounds of Deadpool’s movement. 

“Ooh, I like where this is going, Captain Tight Pants. I like getting things shoved in my mouth. After, can I shove _my_ shield into _your_ mouth?”

“Why didn’t I cut off your head instead of your arm?” Barnes wonders aloud, sure he sees the beginning of a shadow creeping toward him. 

“So, listen, if I come out wearing the flag, will you salute? You know, with your junk?” 

Yep. Barnes can hear Deadpool breathing now, and his voice is clearly coming from the same place as the shadow. He waits. 

“Oh, come on, blue eyes, don’t act like you don’t want it. I saw the way you were looking at me. And really, Hydra has a much more liberal attitude toward fucking on the job than SH—”

Barnes has shot a lot of people, and he’s felt many emotions when doing it. Certainly, relief has been one of them. But he doesn’t think he’s ever been so relieved to fire point-blank into someone’s face as he does when he takes out Deadpool. It’s almost worth the moment when Deadpool took off his hood to try to kiss Barnes, which is the only reason shooting him in the face even slows him down.

“Otto!” Barnes shouts, heedless of the danger that another Hydra idiot will follow his voice. Time is of the essence here.

Barnes just has time to crush the legs of a STRIKE goon and disarm him before Otto, the sorcerer, is at his side. 

“Get this asshole to the penitentiary, and do it fast,” Barnes orders.

“But, Sir, he’s—”

“No, he ain’t. Cap says you can’t kill him like that. He’s gonna heal, and he’s gonna heal fast. Believe me when I tell you, you don’t wanna be anywhere around when he can talk again.”

The sorcerer looks pale and takes less time than usual to create a portal. Barnes carries the guy with crushed legs through and puts him on one of the carts they’re using for wounded prisoners. Returning to the Tower, he takes a moment to breathe. There are still a number of people around Barnes engaged in a close-quarters fight to the death, but without Deadpool’s relentless jabber, it seems quiet in comparison. Shaking his head, he goes back to work wiping up what’s left of the last STRIKE team.  


* * *  
  


Once the front entrance and atrium are secure, the SHIELD agents and Ravagers have no trouble clearing the bottom twenty floors of the Tower. Most of the people on those floors were part of defending the front entrance, and most of those are now wounded, so there’s not much resistance left. The Ravagers round up the able-bodied and march them through a portal, to join their brethren in the penitentiary in Bucky and Marya’s universe.

The SHIELD agents work to get the wounded stabilized and transported to the penitentiary as fast as possible for medical care. (Everyone agrees that the Ravagers aren’t a great choice to provide medical care.) The agents are surprised to see that many of the people fighting for Hydra are wearing business attire. It’s as though their regular work duties at Stark Industries involve utilizing heavy firearms to defend the Tower. Several of the agents wonder aloud whether they have monthly drills or something.

In this way – fighting together to gain control of each floor, then splitting the tasks of getting the prisoners to the penitentiary - the teams have worked their way to the twenty-second floor. They have control of the floor, and in fact, most of the Liberators have already moved to the next floor to begin the process there. Three SHIELD agents are trying to assist one particularly vocal woman who is still wearing a telephone headset with a long, dangling cord. The woman is still trying to fight, gunshots and all. As they’re rolling her toward the portal on a wheeled office chair, as gently as they can in the circumstances, there’s an earsplitting crash. A tornado of glass, electronics, cubicle walls, metal shards, and paper shoots across the space. In the midst of it is Sam Wilson, EXO wings twisted and crushed, his jetpack sparking and smoking. 

He takes out a wall, coming to rest in a pile of drywall rubble.

“Motherfuckin’ son of a—” he groans, turning to his side to attempt to stand. 

The SHIELD agents are just in the process of trying to determine whether this is Liberator Falcon or Abominable Falcon when, with a _swoosh_ of air, a second Sam Wilson flies in through the new, gaping hole in the side of the building. 

“You guys go ahead with what you’re doing, I’ll handle him,” this new Sam says when he notices them. 

They look at one another, at a loss. Finally, one agent says, “Bad Wilson wouldn’t say that, would he? He’d just start shooting.”

That makes sense to the rest of the team, so they complete the task of wrestling the Hydra woman to the portal and roll her through.

As soon as they pass the threshold to hand the woman off to the waiting guards, the newly-arrived Sam Wilson lifts one of the weapons he’s holding in each hand and quickly picks off the sorcerer holding the portal open. The portal shuts with a shower of sparks while Abominable Sam shoots the two stunned SHIELD agents still on this floor. He doesn’t shoot Liberator Sam, and it soon becomes clear why. Apparently, he wants to finish the argument they’ve been having ever since they’ve been fighting.

“You think you’re so virtuous? You think you’d never make use of Hydra? That’s ‘cause you don’t _know_ , man. You got no _idea_ what we can accomplish. Yeah, the methods are crude, and some people are gonna get hurt. I get that, and it sucks. But you gotta see the whole picture.”

“Aw, man, why’d I have to drop my guns? I really gotta lay here and listen to your bullshit?”

“No. You don’t. Because it’s clear why you’re here with Steve Rogers. You’re weak, like he is. Too fucking principled to do what it takes to get shit _done._ ” He lifts the Steyr SPP in his hand and aims between Sam’s eyes. 

In that moment, Liberator Sam turns his back to his doppelgänger and slams down hard on the thrust lever of his jetpack. It fires, but only strongly enough to knock Abominable Falcon back a few feet and to the floor. Almost before good Sam can shed what’s left of his EXO wings, Abominable Falcon’s back up, roaring with anger and raising his weapon. He begins to stalk back toward Sam, shouting obscene insults at him with a manic rage that hideously contorts his handsome face.

Movement behind him distracts Sam’s attention and, for a moment, he hopes that it’s the Hulk, or maybe Iron Man. It isn’t. It’s Spider Man, and he’s just swung in the window on one of those creepy webs he shoots out of God knows where to saunter casually across the floor. He calls a greeting to Abominable Falcon and, at the same moment, the door from the stairway opens to reveal Abominable Clint Barton.

Sam Wilson knows, in that moment, that he is going to die. He twists back around and sits down hard. Then he simply closes his eyes. Saving the world, even someone else’s world, isn’t such a bad way to go.

* * *

Bucky and his team are very nearly down to the level of the SHIELD crew. He hasn’t lost anyone, or had any of his team hurt, and it’s looking like they’re not going to see much action. That’s more than all right with him – he’s seen enough fighting to last a lifetime – but it gives him time to worry. In order to take out Hydra’s comms, Jarvis has had to do things that hamper the Liberator’s comms almost as much. Bucky really does not like not being able to get any news from Prague. 

Just before comms went down, the team in Prague had reported that it had killed all of the Abominable Troops left behind when the Commander left for Sokovia to destroy the fortress and kill Baron von Strucker. They hadn’t mentioned it in their report, of course, but Bucky knows that had to have been a nightmare. Abominable or not, Bucky doubts that his Troops would be able to make themselves kill their counterparts. The Troops are just too devoted to one another, and they know too well what has been done to their Abominable selves to make them fight for Hydra. He suspects that it was the Guardians of the Galaxy who had to do the actual killing, but he still thinks Marya must be hurting.

From their report, it appears inevitable that the Liberators in Prague will succeed in decapitating Hydra. But there are still pockets of fighting in the Palace, some of it fierce. Bucky badly wants to know that Marya’s okay, and he knows she’ll be wanting to know that he’s all right, too. It’s always like this when they’re not together on missions, but usually they can just check in. Not right now, with the mess Jarvis has had to make of comms. Bucky tries to shake it off. They’ll learn about each other’s minor injuries – Deadpool fucking _bit_ him, for fuck’s sake – when they’re together again. None of them are worth mentioning when she’s so far away. Right now, all he needs to know is that she’s alive and coming back.

Just as he has that thought, one of the Asgardian soldiers comes into sight, locked in a vicious knife fight with a Hydra goon who seems to be getting the better of it. Bucky tosses the shield quickly into its harness on his back, pulls a Glock 17 from a thigh holster, and takes the guy out with a nice head shot, all in one smooth motion. The Asgardian swings his dagger at where the man had been a split second before, his eyes going wide in surprise when he meets empty air. It takes him a moment to recognize what’s happened, and to look over to where Bucky is crouched. Even then, he looks a little bewildered. 

“Just helpin’ you out, pal,” Bucky grins. “I know you had him on the ropes.” 

The team confirms that the floor is now clear, and they seal it to move on to the next floor down, where they’ll be meeting up with Thor and his friends. That team has, at long last, finished grappling with Abominable Pepper Potts. For the moment, she’s safely contained in the penthouse. To accomplish that, Thor’s had to leave Mjölnir on her chest, because they don’t have any restraints she can’t melt. But as is, she’s not going anywhere. Besides, Thor’s not exactly helpless without Mjölnir. With him and his team, Bucky’s confident they’ll quickly complete their takeover of Avengers Tower. 

Upon reaching the stairwell, Bucky sees that Lady Sif seems to be bleeding fairly heavily from somewhere under her hair, but she’s more annoyed by it than really hurt. He’s not sure why the hell Volstagg is shirtless and wearing lime-green sweatpants that say “Sweetcakes” across the ass, but he’s still got his battle axe, and he seems good to go, so whatever.

* * *

Tony had seen Sam get hit with some kind of mini-missile that had torn the fuck out of his EXO wings. He didn’t see exactly what happened after that, because at that moment, Jarvis had contacted him and he’d had to make some fast decisions. It had distracted him briefly, and now he notices that he’s suddenly the only one in the air. Even Spider Man isn’t swinging around anywhere. 

In a panic, he begins to circle the Tower, looking for Sam and the Hulk. He locates the Hulk climbing down the side of the building, punching and kicking holes in its exterior for foot- and hand-holds as he goes, toward an ominous-looking cavity in the side of the building, fairly low down. The faintest wisp of smoke is wafting from the fissure in the glass. 

Tony speeds toward it, passing the Hulk, and hovers, trying to see inside before being seen. It’s no use. He can’t see shit. He’ll simply have to go for it. Repulsors forward, he barrels in through the opening, hoping the element of surprise will give him the advantage. What he finds is… nothing.

The floor is a shambles: what had been walls smashed through or missing entirely, way too much blood and, worst of all, bodies. There are at least seven dead who have to be Hydra, and two SHIELD agents and a sorcerer lying on the floor. He quickly sweeps for threats and, finding none, goes to check the Liberators for life signs. All three are dead.

The Hulk drops into the room then, looking around as though as confused as Tony is. 

“This has to be where Sam crashed, doesn’t it? He’s not on the ground, and there’s no way his wings were gonna fly anywhere,” Tony reasons. 

The Hulk shrugs, then goes still, looking past Tony to where most of a long wall is collapsed into chalky rubble strewn on the floor and over office equipment. 

When Tony follows his gaze, he sees a familiar pair of boots sticking out past the last part of the wall still standing. They’re partly covered in plaster dust and chunks of wall. 

“No. Oh, fuck no,” Tony groans.

Stooping almost in half, the Hulk lopes over to where the obviously-dead body of Sam Wilson lies. He’s partially trussed up in that fucking sticky shit Spider Man shoots, but there’s a gaping, bloody hole in the middle of his chest. 

Tony falls to his knees. “Sam…”

The Hulk, too, takes a knee beside the body, hanging his head.

“Awww. Ain’t that sweet,” comes Nick Fury’s slow, sarcastic drawl from behind them. 

Neither Tony nor the Hulk – or Bruce Banner, for that matter – have ever met Nick Fury. There’s no SHIELD in their universe, so whoever Nick Fury is there, he’s not the same guy. But Fury, as described by Cap, is pretty unmistakable. When they turn to see the man in the eye patch and long, black leather coat, they know it’s him. The thing he’s holding might technically be called a gun but, for one thing, it’s longer, thicker, and way weirder-looking than any gun Tony’s ever seen. And for another, parts of it are glowing a very ominous shade of blue.

The Hulk begins to stand and roar. 

“Don’t bother, big guy, we got one of you, too, and I assure you, this thing could take you both down with one shot.” Fury lifts his glowing weapon an inch or so for emphasis.

Tony cocks his head. “Then why haven’t you fired?”

“Leave it to the genius to ask the obvious question,” Fury responds, sounding as though he’s actually proud of Tony for noticing. “I haven’t fired because I want the switch.”

“What switch? I don’t have a switch. Hulk, you got a switch?”

The Hulk grunts and shakes his head.

“Nope. No switches here. Although when I played baseball in prep school, and I was a switch hitter. Does that count?”

“Do not try my patience, Stark. It’s been a long day. You know what I’m talking about. The switch that gets you back to your universe.” At Tony’s raised eyebrow, Fury goes on. “Oh, yeah, I know about it, and it really doesn’t matter how. I don’t have time to explain, anyway. So just give it to me. Or I’ll kill you second.”

Fury takes a step forward and aims at the Hulk, who’s way too big a target to hope he might miss.

It’s a mark of how sinister this Nick Fury is, and how palpable his desperation is, that Tony actually does as he asks. Tony will never admit that it’s also largely because he’s threatening the Hulk – and, by extension, his best friend Bruce. He wishes now that he hadn’t perfected that fucking switch. Maybe if he hadn’t, Fury would’ve materialized in his universe in mid-air, like Bucky did, or been badly burned, like Marya. 

But that won’t happen. Fury will simply wink out of this universe and into Tony’s. Into Tony’s own Tower, in fact. Which is exactly what he does, by flipping the switch the second he has it in his hand.

Tony screams a string of foul words as the Hulk roars his anger.

Tony’s got to get the comms working so he can warn Hill. No time to mourn Sam now.

“Listen, go find Barnes’s team,” he shouts to the Hulk. “See what you can do to help them clean the last of these fuckwads out of here. I’m going back up to my lab. His lab – fuck it, _the_ lab, and see what I can do about contacting Hill.” 

Tony runs to the giant hole in the wall of the building and shoots up into the air.

* * *  
  


On the sixty-sixth floor of the Tower, there’s a small but determined group from Stark Industries’ finance division – who the hell knew accountants could shoot? – who have thus far resisted Barnes’s team’s efforts to flush them out. Barnes is about to give in and let Rocket put together whatever damn fool exploding thing he’s been trying to describe as they continue firing.

Between the four Avengers Initiative teams in the Tower, they’ve secured every floor down to here, which is encouraging, but comms are still FUBAR. Barnes doesn’t know where half his teams or the Abominables are, he has no idea what’s going on in the rest of the world, and as far as he knows, nobody’s seen Fury yet. Jarvis updates the small computer tablet Barnes carries when he gets new information, but without comms, that doesn’t help much. 

So Barnes is frustrated and anxious, concerned about fifty different things all vying for top priority, and doesn’t need any more to worry about. Which means that he doesn’t react well to seeing Cap and his team on the other side of the accountants’ makeshift foxhole. Sure, he’s glad to have the assistance, but he immediately sees the makeshift bandage around Cap’s left shoulder, and the troubling amount of blood seeping through it.

The minute the feisty actuaries or whatever they are surrender, Barnes sets the teams to work securing them and pulls Cap aside. “What the fuck happened?” he cries, indicating Cap’s shoulder.

“Nothin’,” Cap shrugs. “Just got stabbed a little. Listen, I saw Thor’s team on their way down to meet up with Bucky’s team, so I sent Volstagg with them, and —"

“Let me see,” Barnes orders, barking over whatever Cap was about to say, shoving him bodily backward into a padded chair with wooden arms. Cap sits down hard, and Barnes has his arm resting on one of the arms of the chair and is pulling at the bandages before he can react.

“It’s nothing, I told you,” Cap complains. “Don’t worry about it.”

“Shut up. Who stabbed you? What with?”

“Rumlow got me with some kinda fixed blade. Didn’t have time to see what it was.”

“He dead?”

“Yeah, he died all over my new shield gauntlet. It’s a mess,” Cap answers disgustedly, lifting it up. 

Barnes doesn’t look at it, though, because he’s got the bandage off now and is scowling at the hole in Cap’s shoulder. “Damn it, Cap, how’d he get so close? Why the hell won’t you carry a fucking SAW like I told you to? Or use your sidearm? That’s what it’s for, dumbass.”

Cap feels a hot flush go through him as Barnes turns his head to holler for one of the fighters with medic training. Barnes looks and sounds so much like Cap’s Bucky, chewing him out in any of a handful of places in Europe during the war, that he’s grinning through moist eyes when Barnes turns back to him.

“Are you smiling?” Barnes demands angrily.

“No. Absolutely not.”

With a harsh, irritated huff, Barnes throws his head back and groans loudly in frustration. Then he lurches forward, grabbing Cap awkwardly by his uninjured shoulder and low on his arm on the injured side. He kisses Cap, hard, hissing against Cap’s lips as he does, “Fuckin’ reckless asshole.”

“Sorry,” Cap mutters back, immediately lifting his hands to grasp Barnes’s upper arms as he eagerly pulls Barnes closer. There’s nothing romantic about the way Barnes is almost biting at his lips. It’s fierce, urgent, Barnes desperately seeking for connection and reassurance that Cap is here, that he’s okay. 

It’s only seconds later that one of the Asgardian soldiers steps up next to them. “Captains? Is one of you hurt?”

Barnes pulls away and stands quickly. Pointing accusingly at Cap, he fires off a response. “He is, and he needs a new bandage. Because he’s an idiot.”

As Barnes stalks away to take stock of the teams and ensure that their captives are properly restrained before the sorcerer opens a portal, Cap watches him go with an openly adoring expression. The Asgardian medic can’t help but notice as she begins to work on his shoulder wound. She’s recently begun trying to figure out the internet and, up to now, she hasn’t been able to understand the concept of “heart eyes.” All of a sudden, she thinks she gets it.

* * *

Tony’s had to sacrifice a lot of systems he wishes he could keep online, but it’s critical that he get in touch with Barnes as soon as possible. Jarvis still doesn’t have complete control of the Tower – Friday’s still in the background, kicking and screaming and trying to break back into the places from which he’s managed to exclude her. Tony curses viciously as he cuts video surveillance so he can shunt at least that much extra power and bandwidth to comms. 

“Barnes – you copy?” he asks anxiously as he flips a headset on. 

“Stark? Hey, it’s good to hear you! You get comms working?” 

The connection is scratchy and fades in and out, but at least they can hear each other.

“We got serious problems, man. We gotta send somebody back home _now._ Fury found me and the Hulk, and he got my switch. He’s _there,_ Barnes. He’s in _our_ Stark Tower.”

“Fuck! You’re sure?”

“Watched him peace out myself.”

“Damn it! Hill can take care of herself, and she’s got a lot of SHIELD people, but they’re mostly geeks. He could fuck things up bad.”

“Barnes, he could find a way to release Abominable Iron Man and Hulk.”

Barnes thinks about that for a second. Tony’s right, and that’s a chance they simply can’t take. “We’re gonna need to pull everybody we can spare from here, and send them back. You oughtta go, too.”

“I know, but I need to help Jarvis unfuck these comms.”

“Then I’m gonna send Thor and his team, even though Thor doesn’t have Mjölnir at the moment. Stark doesn’t have a suit, so even if Banner goes Hulk—”

“ _I_ have suits, you idiot! If he gets to those—”

“Fuck! We can’t let that happen. All right, listen. We still gotta keep enough strength here to finish takin’ the Tower, and then hold it. But it’s just cleanup now, Bucky and Thor’s teams have met up with the SHIELD force, and all the heavy fighting up here is over. I need Clint and Natasha to keep searchin’ for Abominable Barton, but I can send T’Challa and… you got Hulk up there?”

“I sent him to you.” 

“Then let’s send Thor with Sif and the Warriors Three, T’Challa and the Hulk. They can take some of the Wakandans and Asgardians. I’ll keep most of ‘em, and all the Ravagers. We oughtta be okay. I’m gonna need Sam, though.”

“Barnes… not Sam.”

Barnes squeezes his eyes shut and puts out a hand to steady himself on a chair before he asks quietly, “What happened?”

“Sam is… on the twenty-second floor. His asshole clone shot him down with a wrist-rocket. Before we could get to him, apparently he and that Spider Kid… He didn’t make it.”

There’s silence for a moment as Barnes digests this. Then he says gruffly, “I’ll get the team headed home to deal with Fury. You stay up there and do what you need to. Can you make sure I can reach you?”

“I can do anything. Stark out.”

* * *

Clint and Natasha haven’t located Abominable Hawkeye because, most of the time, he hasn’t been _in_ the Tower at all. He’s had things to do. 

When the Avengers had learned that Steve Rogers was alive, they’d known this day was coming. Abominable Clint and Natasha, along with the rest, had been all for defending the choices they’d made, and actually looked forward to finishing the job they’d started. Sure, Captain America was a hell of a tough adversary, but they knew that he couldn’t defeat all of them together. If Thor and his buddies hadn’t barged in and pulled him out of the Compound that day, they’d have finished him then. 

They’d all assumed that Thor had carried Steve to New Asgard, to lick his wounds and rail about honor to whoever would listen. Thor had been plenty pissed about the attack; the Avengers had worried at first that maybe the Asgardians would come back to take revenge. And they had returned, but they hadn’t done anything except, as they put it, “observe.” 

The Avengers all know that Steve Rogers is a favorite of New Asgard – far more than any of the rest of them. That’s particularly true of Deadpool, who is forbidden ever to return to King Brunnhilde’s presence, on pain of death. (She really hadn’t appreciated whatever it was he’d whispered to her during that banquet.) So for the Asgardians to do nothing more than “condemn their actions in the strongest possible terms” had been quite a shock. 

And then the Avengers had understood. 

The only possible reason that New Asgard hadn’t retaliated was that they _can’t._ It had burst upon them with the stunning brilliance of a hundred suns – the destruction of Asgard had shattered Thor’s people far more completely than they had ever allowed anyone to imagine. They wouldn’t be coming to punish the Avengers. They had nothing left to fight with. Besides which, the Avengers were now in control of the _planet._ Sure, they were currently allowing Hydra to do the work of forming a system of control for them – why the hell not? But everyone – including Hydra – knew that the Avengers had the real power. 

The Avengers realized that they’d won. Yes, Captain America had survived, so they knew he would be coming to try to stop Hydra, and maybe get some sort of payback against them. They all knew Steve Rogers better than to believe anything else. They even figured he’d recruit Thor and his buddies, which he’d done. And there’s never going to be a time when finding Thor in your house looking to fight won’t give you a serious pucker. But they’d beaten Captain America, and Hela had beaten Asgard, so let them come.

At least, that had been their thinking this morning. Oh, it had been fun to see how spitting mad Steve was, in his new (honestly, hella cool) uniform, with Thor and a few of the remaining Asgardians at his side. Cap had a few more people with him than Hawkeye had expected, but still, nothing the Avengers couldn’t handle.

Until they’d seen who they were.

They’d thought they were dropping in to rescue Tony and Bruce in a short, entirely one-sided and enjoyable fight. But it had been immediately clear that the Iron Man and Hulk in the room were on the wrong side. Besides which, almost everyone Cap had with him was superhuman. In fact, he had even brought _another Captain America._

And then they’d seen _themselves_. _What the actual fuck?_

They’d only stayed for long enough to be convinced that everyone on the STRIKE teams was going to die before they peaced out to find the rest of the team. It had taken Friday no time to locate everyone, and to let them know that Stark and Banner had been abducted through some kind of fucking ring of fire or some shit and were nowhere to be found. Whoever Steve had found to bring with him, they were obviously going to be way, way more trouble than the Avengers had been expecting.

Hawkeye and the Black Widow had stayed together, easily losing those assholes that looked like them, whoever they were. Whatever they were. But then they’d gotten another ugly surprise when they’d learned that the freakshow in Stark’s lab was only part of the problem. There were also apparently a bunch of SHIELD agents and God knew who those raggedy-ass biker-looking dudes were, trying to get in the front door. Not to mention the flood of SHIELD agents – weren’t all those guys supposed to be dead? – already in the Tower somehow. 

By the time they’d blown past the little group of SHIELD agents trapped in the garage – okay, that had been amusing – and made it to the rendezvous with Fury, they’d also learned that this was only one of many attacks all over the world. That was when Hawkeye had first begun to question the wisdom of fucking with Captain America. 

Fury hadn’t made him or Tasha feel better about it, either, when he’d explained that these guys had to be from an alternate universe. Fucking Fury and his secrets – apparently, Stark had been pretty close to proving multiverse theory is real, and Fury knew that. Of course they’d kept it to themselves, treating the rest of the team like children and letting them find out by running into their own fucking alternate selves in the heat of the moment. Nice.

But the Avengers and Fury had been planning for Cap’s return, and they had plenty of tricks up their sleeves. So the emergency meeting ended, and they split up to take care of business. For a little while, it had been fun. But not for long. Because his and Tasha’s doubles seemed to be able to find them, no matter where they went, and they had come to fight. In the end, they’d had to split up. They spent the next couple of hours doing hit and runs – dropping in on wherever the fighting was fiercest to lend a hand, then moving on – and avoiding their other selves, or whatever. 

Then. Then, he’d found Tasha’s body. After that, Hawkeye had made his way to his favorite place – the railing that runs underneath and slightly outward from the landing pad – and spent a very long time there. The rail serves as a mounting for lights showing pilots where the landing surface is, and apparently it also serves some structural purpose. Clint doesn’t care; he just knows it gives him a spectacular view, fresh air, and privacy. He’s the only one who goes out there, mostly because it’s a fucking insanely dangerous thing to do.

He’d just watched the arial battle for a while, thinking. He and Tasha had wanted to be invincible, all-powerful, so that no one would ever dare to attempt to control them again. _They_ would make the decisions; get rid of all the penny-ante wannabe oppressors and tyrants and usher in a better world. Now, with Tasha dead, what’s the point? What’s left to fight for? By the time the Falcon had called for backup after shooting down the other guy, Hawkeye was seriously considering simply climbing back up to the landing pad, taking the elevator to the ground floor, and walking away.

After coming to the Falcon’s rescue, though, he feels a little differently. He’s still not sure what the fucking point is. Not anymore. He’s pretty sure he’s done with all of this: the Avengers, Hydra, everything. When this fight is over, he’s going to disappear. 

But first, he’s going to avenge Tasha. He’ll kill those imposters, and he’ll take his time with that fucking fake Hawkeye. He knows exactly what caused that gaping hole in her throat. Then, he’ll kill Steve Rogers, and he’ll make damn sure he’s all the way dead this time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, drop me a comment and let's talk about our favorite superhero boyfriends!


	31. One Step Forward, Two Steps Back

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The battle is drawing to a close, but the fight's just been joined by the strongest enemies of all.

* * *

None of the Troops is in particularly good shape. They’ve taken Wallenstein Castle, and Dmitriy’s forces have control of the complex. But they’re all horrified at the treachery of the Abominable Troops, and grieving the deaths of people who never chose to be what they were turned into. 

What Dmitriy really needs right this moment is to hold his husband and children tightly. He needs to remind himself that this is not their universe and that, in their universe, they are free and Hydra is destroyed. Nayara and Antton will never know a world where Hydra is a serious threat. But since Abarran and their children are safely back in the Spain of Dmitriy’s universe, he will have to settle for the comfort of his siblings here. He especially needs to see Marya, his true sister, right now. Not that he’d tell her that.

She’s been leading one of the teams scouring every inch of the Palace complex, making sure that there is no Hydra remnant hiding out in a dark corner somewhere. They’re also ensuring that Hydra hasn’t left any sort of booby trap behind as a last act of revenge. With comms so badly deteriorated, Dmitriy doesn’t actually know where her team is. 

Dmitriy has also tasked some of the Troops with leading teams around the city to help ensure that the Hydra soldiers who had escaped the purge of the Palace don’t cause trouble somewhere else. They’re beginning to report back now. Although they can’t use the Avengers Initiative comms and even the best cell service doesn’t reach into alternate universes, they can still use ordinary land lines to call in their reports to Dmitriy. According to those reports, the city of Prague is dotted with fires and there’s the occasional sound of gunfire. The citizens are throwing off the yoke Hydra sought to clamp on them. 

In fact, it’s that way in many cities throughout the world, especially capitals. Without comms or Jarvis, Dmitriy’s had to learn this through old-school methods of getting information, such as television and the Internet, but that’s working all right. Now that Hydra’s leadership is all either dead or in a penitentiary in another universe, Dmitriy’s mission is simply to keep the people safe while the countries of Europe can reconvene their central governments. 

In fact, the leaders of the Czech Republic are already here at the Palace, working to figure out where to go from here. Dmitriy’s happy to let them. It’s their job, not his. The Liberators are not here to take control, but to return control to those to whom it rightfully belongs. 

All of the teams scouring the Palace complex have returned, except for Marya’s. Two of them saw nothing, but two encountered Hydra troops hiding out in the complex. These leftovers didn’t seem to be planning anything, however, they just had nowhere to go and were holed up out of fear. 

Marya’s team, as it turns out, stumbled onto a chamber of horrors.

Dmitriy is in the small, round Audience Chamber of the Palace, sitting at a utilitarian table that seems at odds with the baroque frescoes on the walls and ceiling, when Marya appears in the open doorway, leaning on Gamora for support. Marya’s tac suit is torn and bloody, and her hair in wild disarray. One of the Czech Senators with whom Dmitriy’s been discussing ways the loyal members of their military can be deployed hastily offers her a chair. She falls heavily into it. 

“What happened?” Dmitriy almost shouts, jumping up from his chair and going to her. 

She doesn’t answer, watching him with huge, haunted eyes and visibly shrinking at his approach. She seems so terrified of him that he stops before he reaches her, switching from Czech to Spanish and beginning to speak in a low voice like the one he uses with Nayara when she has a bad dream. “Marya, it’s just me. You’re safe. No one is going to hurt you.”

He goes to his knees before her, reaching slowly out to take her trembling hands. They’re covered with dried blood. He can see tears in the tac suit that mean at least two gunshots, and several knife wounds. “Please, talk to me. What happened?”

It frightens Dmitriy that Marya answers in Russian. “There is a sub-level,” she croaks hoarsely. “There are… machines. A lab. We thought it was deserted, and it was so terrible— Then they came, so many Hydra soldiers. They killed everyone. My team. I do not know how I escaped, but there was nothing I could do—”

With that, she breaks down completely, doubling over and burying her head in her hands. Dmitriy looks up at Gamora.

“Drax found her in one of the corridors near the old stables where the Senate meets now,” she tells him. “He carried her to the Palace. He’s got a team down in the sub-level they found and he says it’s like the pictures we’ve seen of the bunker you were kept in. There are no Hydra soldiers there now, but there’s some kind of a chair with restraints on it, and a bunch of machines around it.”

Dmitriy’s scowl at hearing that makes even Gamora uncomfortable. Marya whimpers. 

“Do not worry, _восемь_. It will not be standing when the sun sets.” Although she had seemed to appreciate that he sometimes called her Eight as a sort of nickname, and she had taken it as her call sign, she doesn’t seem to want to be called that now. He can understand that. Seeing a Hydra lab like Gamora is describing has to have been horrible, and then to see her entire team killed there… “You are hurt. Let’s get you some medical attention.”

“No.” That reaction is certainly nothing new, coming from Marya, but she seems to regret the vehemence with which she hisses the word. She sits up a bit from the way she had been curled in on herself, although she doesn’t look at Dmitriy. She says weakly, “I am fine. I will heal.”

“When is the last time anyone let you get away with that? But I will make you a deal. We are sending some of the most injured to New York to be treated there, in Avengers Tower. We can’t send them home, because some of the Abominables have managed to get to Stark Tower. Believe it or not, Avengers Tower is marginally safer right now. Let me send you there. You can let Captain Barnes or Mr. Stark decide whether you need treatment.” He scoffs, “You will listen to them.”

Marya doesn’t look as if she’s fully tracking what he’s saying, and still seems afraid of him, but she’s no longer crying so hard, and appears slightly calmer. Dmitriy takes that as a good sign and decides to press his luck.

“You’ll be with your Sergeant.”

“My… Sergeant?” she whispers.

Dmitriy cracks a grin. “I thought that would be appealing. If Captain Barnes says you can fight, maybe you can join the Sergeant in whatever he’s doing.”

Marya nods, but says nothing, continuing to look past Dmitriy as if all she can see is the vision of the hell her team walked into.

“Very well.” Dmitriy stands and says to Gamora, “Get her to the residences, where the wounded are. Tell the sorcerer that I am sending her with them to Avengers Tower.” 

Gamora nods crisply and moves to help Marya stand.

“And you,” he says to Marya in a voice even more commanding than the one he’d just used to give an actual order, “You may not listen to me, but you will have to abide by Captain Barnes’s orders. If he says you need medical care, then you will get it.”

Marya doesn’t respond, but simply lets Gamora begin to help her toward the door. 

* * *

Clint and Natasha are using every sneaky trick they know to find Abominable Hawkeye. From the staticky bursts of communication they can get from Tony, they know that everyone else is doing basically the same thing they are: trying to find the last holdouts hidden in the Tower. But the one they’re looking for is different. He won’t just be hiding in a corner or a supply closet. He could be anywhere, and he’s by far the most dangerous person still left on the loose in the Tower. He is also, in their minds, the biggest asshole. They really want to be the ones who find him. 

In the end, he finds them. 

They’ve managed to enter the Tower’s armory, which is on the floor just below the landing pad next to the rooms where the team suits up for missions. Their handprints are apparently not identical to their doubles’, but they’re close enough that they’re ultimately able to get in. That’s something they’ll need to think about for the future in their own universe. 

Clint and Natasha are helping themselves to as much weaponry and ammunition as they can carry and still be able to fight. They throw everything else into a pile, which they’ll melt into a massive, useless clump with the radiation emitter Bruce invented for exactly this purpose. It won’t set off the ammo, because it doesn’t cause any heat. It’ll just melt all the metal and plastic within its range, which is why it’s a good thing the floor in here is polished concrete, like the one in their armory. 

Natasha is bemoaning the idea of destroying so much beautiful hardware. She’s just trying to convince herself that they have to do it to keep the Abominables from rearming, when there’s a sharp pain in her right arm and she’s knocked back into a wall. Before she’s able to process that, she feels a second deep sting, this time in her left arm, and she finds she’s now _pinned_ to the wall, an arrow through the flesh of each upper arm. 

She’s looking at two Clint Bartons, one of whom is leaning at an awkward angle against the opposite wall, a thick arrow through his left shoulder and another through his right upper arm. The one holding a bow has two more arrows ready to fire, crossed so that one is aimed at Natasha, and one at Clint. 

Natasha knows Clint very well. She knows what he can do. And she’s not at all sure that he could have done what this guy just did. She has no doubt that, if he looses again, he’ll hit what he’s aiming at. 

Natasha’s Clint starts to pull himself up, only to be stopped by a third arrow, this one through his left flank. Again it punches through his flesh and the tip embeds itself into the wall behind him. There’s a bloody splash mark from this shot, and Clint cries out.

“Don’t try to get up, because I won’t kill you. I’ll just keep this up until you stop trying.”

“You fucking Hydra slime!” Natasha hisses.

“Now,” Abominable Hawkeye goes on, aiming the arrow he still has nocked at various locations on her body. “You get to be the lucky one who dies first. Because that asshole killed my Tasha. So he’s gonna watch while I kill his.”

Natasha squeezes her eyes shut for a moment, trying to get a hold of the pain so that she can push it away. 

“Leave her out of this,” Clint yells. “You’re right. I did kill your scumbag pal. Your fight is with me. I don’t think you want to kill her. She may not be the one you knew, but she’s Tasha. Just let her go, and—”

“Will you shut the fuck up? Don’t bother trying to bullshit me. If I have to put an arrow in your mouth and out the back of your neck to shut you up, you think I’ll hesitate?”

Clint shuts up. 

Abominable Hawkeye turns to Natasha. “You look like her. I could almost believe you are her. But I’m still gonna kill you slow, because you’re _not_. And he has to pay.”

Natasha looks down, her deep frown one of confusion, rather than fear. She actually nods understanding. Then, before Hawkeye can loose his arrow or do anything else, a single tear slides from her eye down her cheek. 

Hawkeye hesitates just long enough that the pause registers. Natasha has time to think that the tear might’ve worked. But then he draws, aiming for her stomach, and fires.  
  


* * *

The switch pops Fury right into Tony’s lab, as designed, which could be bad because it means he has access to all of Tony’s current projects. Fortunately, science and tech aren’t Fury’s strength. Fury’s all about people. Machinations, secrecy, manipulation… Having him enter this universe in the lab is actually a good thing, because it means that wherever he decides to go from there, Hill and her team are going to see them coming.

It doesn’t make much difference. Not with that Hydra weapon.

The first reports from the team’s home universe are not good. Fury’s left a whole lot of bodies. As expected, the first thing he did upon arrival was free Abominable Stark and Banner from the brig: the apartment with one glass wall in which Bucky was held when he’d first arrived. They were very well guarded, of course, but that just meant there were more people for Fury to melt with the blue beams from that hideous weapon. 

When Thor and his team arrive, there’s a trail of bodies like breadcrumbs to show where the Abominables have been. Just as Tony had feared, Abominable Stark had headed straight for the penthouse and is now presumably fully arrayed in Iron Man armor and weapons. He doesn’t have Jarvis or Friday to help him fly and fire, which hampers him significantly, but he still has plenty of firepower and his own considerable intellect. 

For an hour, the team searches for the Abominables, although they can’t use Jarvis in the search as fully as they’d like. When they find nothing but destruction, they have to conclude that Fury, Stark, and Banner are no longer in the Tower. 

“Perhaps they have simply gone into hiding. They may not be planning to try to get their Tower, or their Midgard, back,” Thor hypothesizes.

“I don’t see it,” Barnes responds. “Fury doesn’t seem like the type who’d spring Stark and Banner without an ulterior motive.”

“I have to agree,” Cap adds. “If he was just going to run, he’d have left them. They’re coming back, because Hydra can still win.”

“Your switches only work once, right, Stark?” Barnes asks.

“Yeah. And he only had the one.” 

Maria Hill’s voice comes over the comms. “Which means…”

“Oh, shit,” Tony hisses. “Jarvis, find every sorcerer in that building! Tell them to get to safety! Hill, can you—”

At that moment, a massive explosion rocks Avengers Tower, and the roar of a Hulk can be heard through the comms. Hill asks anxiously, “What was that? _Where_ was that?”

“This is Barnes. There’s just been an explosion here somewhere. Which Hulk was that?”

“It is not ours,” Thor responds.

“Tony? Stark, you copy?” Barnes barks into his comms. 

There’s no response.

* * *

Bucky is nearly knocked off his feet by the shudder that runs through the building from the explosion. He sees Groot grab onto one of the elegant light fixtures suspended from the ceiling for support. They’re on the eighth floor, which is one of the ten floors that house Stark Industries’ legal division, and its fixtures and furnishings are quite a bit different from those on other floors. It’s mostly offices, with workstations for paralegals and assistants. In an instant, the place is thrown into chaos. Glass shatters, tiles fall down from the suspended ceiling, office equipment tumbles to the floor, and a hundred bookcases throw their contents across offices as they tip over onto desks. The lights go out, leaving the team in a hazy semi-darkness of thick dust lit by what sunlight is filtering in through nearby windows.

“What the hell?”

“Sergeant, that felt like a hell of an explosion,” one of the three Asgardian soldiers on the team says, as he helps Mantis up from the floor. “And I think it came from a long way above us.” 

“I think he is right,” Mantis offers.

Bucky agrees. “Somethin’ tells me bad Stark’s back. Which means Fury and the Hulk. We clear this joint of all the foot soldiers, and we still gotta deal with most of the fucking brass!” He tries for a full minute, without success, to reach anyone on his comms. 

“Sir,” another of the Asgardians says, “I think Abominable Iron Man will want to be in his labs. That is where Jarvis is based, and where he has all of his inventions.” He grimaces. “I believe we are about to run upstairs. eighty floors upstairs.”

Bucky sighs, pulling a hand through his hair, then takes a minute to make sure no one has any serious injuries. “New mission,” he tells them when he’s finished. “We gotta assume that explosion was Stark. Bad Stark. And that he’s up in his lab with good Stark. Comms are completely dead now, so we can’t know what’s goin’ on, but I got a feelin’ there’s gonna be some kind of last stand up there, and even with Barnes and Cap up there, they might need us. More than SHIELD needs us down here, anyway. So we’re goin’. There’s no way we’re gettin’ on elevators, though. Not when he could be in control of ‘em. So we climb. Let’s go.”

Without bothering to look back to see if the team follows him, Bucky strides toward the nearest stairwell door. As he goes, a shadow and a faint whoosh to his side get his attention and he instantly pivots to aim his weapon in that direction. He turns just in time to see Sam Wilson make a pretty landing ten feet away. Almost immediately afterward, Spider Man swings in through the now-glassless window Sam’s just used.

Bucky gets three shots off before he hears that Sam is shouting his name from behind the shield he’s made of his EXO wings. _Wait._ This can’t be Abominable Sam. He wouldn’t know who Bucky is. To everyone in this universe, Bucky Barnes is dead. But if this _isn’t_ Abominable Sam, what’s he doing with Spider Man?

That's when the second explosion hits. It isn't nearly as powerful as the first, but it is much closer. This one does knock Bucky, and everyone else, off his feet.

* * *

  
Clint struggles against the arrows pinning him to the wall, calling out to Natasha. She’s moving and making noise, but she’s not answering. And there is way too much blood.

That’s when the air around them seems to press in painfully for a split second before a deafening blast hits and they’re plunged into darkness. The building seems to jump around them as unseen objects collide with all three of them. For a moment afterward, there is only the sound of small pieces of something raining down, followed by thuds and crashes as larger objects fall elsewhere outside the armory. 

Clint can’t see anything, really. There are bars of light in a few places, some straight and some crazily jagged, which he assumes are sunlight coming through cracks and around the wreckage surrounding him, but he can’t make sense of the new geography of the armory by looking at them. His eyes feel gritty, and he sees when he looks at one of the cracks that there’s stuff floating in the air. _Dust_ , he thinks, _maybe smoke_.

“Tasha?”

She moans from the general direction of where she’d been when the lights went out.

“Talk to me. You with me?”

“Shut up, both of you,” Clint hears his Abominable self say, and there’s a rustling and some grunting, followed by a darkness blocking out parts of the bars of light, telling Clint where he is, and that he’s moving. He seems to be pushing something big and awkward off of himself and trying to stand.

Clint hears Natasha murmur, “Ow,” and knows her so well that he can hear her small grin.

“I said shut UP!”

Clint glares at the outline of Hydra Hawkeye with all the venom he feels, even though he knows the asshole can’t see it. But it doesn’t matter. He’s about to get the message anyway. That explosion just saved their lives.

Clint tries not to make a noise while he stretches his right forearm toward whatever it is he has caught between his feet. It hurts like almighty hell, but he doesn’t suppose the soft moan he can’t keep in will tell the other man anything, especially because he’s still doing something over there across the room. Clint thinks he might be feeling around for his bow. 

“Hey, dickweed,” Clint says. “You think it was your guys who just blew somethin’ up, or ours?”

“It was ours, and it was the labs. Anybody you had up there is dead. If you thought you’d won, you’re about to find out different. So you’re gonna die knowing it’s for nothing.”

There’s a metallic sound and evil Hawkeye shouts, “Don’t move!”

“C’mon, genius, this whole place is movin’. Shit’s still settling from that blast. I got fuckin’ three arrows in me and you got me pegged to this damn wall like a fuckin’ butterfly collection. Twitchy much?”

“That’s it. I’m gonna put an arrow through your mouth.”

“Yeah, yeah. Seems like you lost your bow, though, from the sounds over there.”

Those sounds increase, as Hawkeye’s search becomes more urgent. While he’s scuffling around in the mess on the floor, Clint keeps up his chatter. 

“So what’s the deal with you guys goin’ over to the dark side, anyway? I mean, does Hydra have dental or something? Because the way Cap tells it—”

“Shut your fucking mouth!”

“He says they’re complete douchenozzles. Said you’ve been fighting them together for years. So why the hell would you suddenly get all chummy with ‘em? And another thing I was wonderin’. That outfit you got on is seriously ugly. Is that Hydra issue? ‘Cause if it is, that’s another reason not to—”

“Shut. Up. You are seriously the most annoying asshole I’ve ever met. I’m gonna enjoy shutting you up.”

“Yeah, but remember, dude, I’m you. So if you think I’m annoying, then that should give you a bit of self-awareness you didn’t have before. So really, you should be thanking me.”

Hawkeye shouts, “There it is!” There’s the sound of him pulling his bow out from underneath things. There are more hard clacking noises from somewhere closer to the middle of the room, but they don’t cover the quick, smooth slide of an arrow leaving a quiver. Hawkeye utters a harsh laugh as he nocks the arrow.

But he’s too late. The guy doesn’t deserve a painless, instant death, but Clint is forced to give him one so he doesn’t loose that arrow, because he wouldn’t have missed. The muzzle flash as he shoots his doppelgänger between the eyes seems painfully bright in the darkness, and Clint screams with the pain of the recoil on his impaled arms.

“Clint?” comes Natasha’s mumbled voice.

“Yeah.”

“How the hell?”

“That pile of guns we made? The explosion scattered them in my direction. I’ve been over here picking shit up with my feet until I ended up with a pistol and a magazine.”

“How did you load the pistol with your arms pinned?”

“I’m pinned in a shoulder. I could reach, but it hurt like hell.”

“How could you do that without making noise?”

“It did make noise, so I had to cover it up. Why do you think I kept talking so much?”

Natasha skips a beat or two. “Oh, was that more than usual?”

“Seriously?” Clint shrieks in offense. “I did just save your life.”

“You save my life all the time. You also talk all the time.”

“The ingratitude!”

“Sorry. I’m usually nicer when I’m full of arrows.” Clint doesn’t like the way she has to stop talking to take a few breaths. He especially doesn’t like when her tired voice says, “We’re seriously fucked here, Clint.”

“Not as fucked as we were a minute ago. Anyway, we’ve been fucked worse than this.”

“When?”

Clint chuckles painfully. “I’ll have to get back to you on that.”

The sound of heavy objects falling and breaking comes from outside the ruins of the armory, startling Clint and Natasha. After a painful new surge of adrenaline, Clint is overwhelmed with relief to hear the noises followed quickly by the sound of Barnes’s voice. Or Bucky’s. Whichever one it is, he’s on their side. So Clint calls out, “Hey! Quit fuckin’ around out there and come give me a hand. Tasha’s hurt!”

The voice stops, then Clint hears the sound of feet carefully crunching across debris. “Hawk?”

“Yeah. Good me. I just blasted bad me in the face.”

The footsteps stop close by, and Clint can see dark spaces in the bars of light. 

“It’s us, Barnes,” Natasha says, as loudly as she’s able, which is now pretty soft.

“Hang on,” Barnes’s voice says, and there’s a flurry of noise. The walls of the armory are basically a steel cage covered by drywall, but the door was open when the explosion hit and it doesn’t take Barnes long to pull it out of its housing. Very quickly, a block of blinding light appears as he lifts a wall-sized weapons rack from where it had rested precariously against a steel cabinet, just above Clint’s head. Cap steps up behind him. Although they’re backlit, there’s no mistaking those silhouettes.

Barnes looks into the space he’s uncovered and sees Natasha first, swearing as he takes in all the blood and the thick arrows impaling her. “How’d you know it was me?”

“Bucky’s voice is different. You always sound like you’re at a funeral. And really? You see me like this and your first thought is about _you_? That’s really narcissistic.” Her words are casual, but her voice is faint and tight with pain.

“Sorry,” Barnes says, serious now. Then Cap points to where Clint lies in an incredibly awkward and painful-looking position, and Barnes’ eyes go wide when he takes in his situation. “Holy shit. No wonder you shot yourself in the face. Where is he?”

“He’s the pile of shit over there,” Clint says, tossing his chin in the direction of Abominable Hawkeye’s body.

Barnes steps carefully around the jumble of weaponry and rubble on the floor to lean over the dead man. “Oh,” he says when he sees his face. “I was gonna feel for a pulse, but I don’t think that’s necessary.”

Shrugging, he then moves to Natasha. Cap squats next to Clint. 

And then a second explosion occurs. This one is much smaller than the first, and it feels like it's low down in the building, but it's unmistakably an explosion. Barnes and Cap are instantly hunched over Natasha and Clint, shields held over their heads. Nothing big falls, but a few smaller items go skittering down from where they'd landed after the first blast.

Both Natasha and Clint utter pained noises at the jostling of the walls they're pinned to. "Okay, can that please be it for the pyrotechnic portion of today's festivities?" Clint mutters.

"You like it when shit goes boom," Barnes responds absently.

"Not today."

Barnes is looking around and behind Natasha, assessing the details of her situation. “Aw, man. Any way I get you outta here’s gonna hurt.”

“It already hurts. Just do it.”

“Yeah, your all big and tough, but—”

Behind Barnes, there’s a swish and a soft thud, and a shadow crosses the light as someone comes onto this floor through the window. Seconds later, a second, larger shadow crosses the light and there’s a heavier thud. There’s a flurry of clicking, which Barnes recognizes as the sound of Rocket and all of the Asgardians and Wakandans on Barnes’s team getting into firing position. Although Barnes and Cap are inside the armory and can’t see them, neither of the newcomers is holding a weapon. In fact, they’re both holding their hands up, so the team awaits orders.

Barnes is holding the shield, protecting himself and Natasha, and Cap is in roughly the same position using his shield gauntlets to protect Clint.

A voice says, “Cap? Barnes?”

“Falcon.” Cap says in a deep monotone.

“It’s Sam. The right one. I can prove it. Barnes, you lost three hundred and eighteen bucks to Cap on poker night, and all he had was a pair of sevens. Whatever universe, Steve Rogers may be the symbol of truth and honesty, but he can lie his ass off when the occasion calls for it.”

“Sam!” Barnes calls, his face suddenly alight with a wide smile so beautiful it takes Cap a moment to react to what he’s just heard.

When he does, he yells, “Who’s that with you?”

“A friendly,” Sam answers. “And I know that for sure. So don’t freak out and definitely don’t shoot him. Okay?”

"Who. Is. It."

"Spider Man."

Barnes and Cap look at each other through the dim, dusty air. Scowling, Barnes turns toward the opening in the wreckage where the weapons rack was. “Tony said our Sam died, and Spider Man’s been fighting you all day."

“Okay, first, there’s no way asshole me could know what happened in a poker game in a universe he didn’t even know existed. And the kid actually hasn’t been fighting us. You wouldn’t believe what he’s been up to. He’s a devious little shit. I’ll explain later, it’s a great story, but we’re on the clock – we were just checkin’ this floor out because we’re gonna ferry some of Bucky’s team up here.”

“Sam, how do you know this kid’s all right?” Steve asks, sounding every bit as skeptical as Barnes.

“Look, do you trust me, or do you not? Because we’re in a world of shit right now that you probably don’t even know about. Spider Man saved my ass and he’s on our side.” 

“I am, Captains, sirs. I promise.” For some reason, the teenage voice is more disconcerting than reassuring. 

“I think this Falcon’s ours, Barnes,” Rocket adds. “I got a very sensitive nose, and this one has the same foot odor problem as ours. I wouldn’t think—"

“Shut the fuck up,” Sam barks at Rocket, who cackles. When Barnes doesn’t immediately tell his team to stand down, Sam calls to him, “We don’t have time for this. That second explosion? It was on the sixteenth floor. Killed a lot of our wounded. SHIELD created a makeshift treatment area down there since we didn’t know where was safe to take ‘em.”

Cap looks appalled. “So we still got bad guys in here.”

“Looks that way,” Sam responds. “Above and below. Soon as that second explosion hit, Bucky sent me and the kid to find out what it was. Bucky’s leadin’ Groot and an Asgardian soldier down to check out the sixteenth floor, but he’s anxious to get you guys some backup. Because the kid says that first explosion means Stark and his Abominable buddies are back. Which means our Tony’s up there with ‘em.”

Barnes mutters, “Damn. Hate it when I’m right.” Then he calls out, “Listen, bring Mantis first, would ya’? We got Clint and Natasha in here, and they’re hurt bad.”

Spider Man’s impossibly young voice answers, “Aye Aye, Sir. I’ll do it.”

Barnes and Cap again look at one another, clearly thinking along the same lines. Barnes scowls and sighs before calling out, “Team, you can stand down. Let ‘em go. These are friendlies.”

As he sees a shadow that has to be Sam following Spider Man back out the window, Barnes turns back to Natasha, but continues shouting to his team as he returns to trying to figure out how to free her.

“You guys work on pulling some of this shit away from around us. But be careful. This whole place is gonna fall in on us if you move the wrong thing.”

The team quickly begins to clear the fallen racks, cabinets, and loose weapons. 

“I’m fine,” Clint tells Cap, who starts to work on him. “Go help Barnes with Tasha.”

Clint is not fine, but he’s at least stable, so Cap stands to step carefully through the weapons and ammo scattered all over the floor to where Barnes is assessing Natasha’s situation. 

Barnes glances up. “How the fuck are we gonna get her out of this without making it worse?”

“Got a knife?”

Barnes scowls at Cap as if he’s lost his tiny, reckless mind. “I have many knives,” he says drily.

Cap doesn’t react. “Let’s just cut around the arrows. This is nothing but sheetrock.”

Barnes tilts his head just a bit, says, “Huh,” then suddenly has a knife in each hand. He gives one to Cap. 

“Sorry, Natasha, you’re not gonna like this very much,” Barnes tells her in Russian, gently sliding the knife into the wall behind her left arm. 

Cap, too, pushes his knife into the soft gypsum of the wall and begins to saw around the arrow through Natasha’s right arm. Her face shows her pain, but she doesn’t make a noise. It’s Clint who can be heard breathing heavily and occasionally gasping when they move Natasha too much. 

Barnes gets his arrow loose from the wall, causing Natasha to cry out in pain when her arm jerks. “Sorry, Doll,” Barnes says softly, still in Russian. 

“’S all right,” she replies, slurring a bit. “Care more ‘bout… damn scars… gonna have.”

“Ah, Tasha, we’ll get you a good plastic surgeon. Fix you right up.” Clint responds in English. He doesn’t sound like he feels much better than she does, but he begins to talk to distract her. “You remember that dude in Quebec? The one with all the scars on his face? How creepy was that? You guys shoulda seen this joker. Lines and squiggles and dots all over him.”

“What, on purpose?” Cap asks.

“Yeah, man, it was the weirdest shit I ever saw. But he thought he looked great. Remember, Tash?”

She doesn’t answer.

“Tash?” Clint calls, desperation tinging his voice.

“I think she’s all right, Hawk,” Barnes says. “She’s just passed out. We’re almost done, then we’ll get you both home to Medical.”

At that moment, they begin to hear a rhythmic series of what sound like impacts with the building, which seem to be getting closer with each noise. There’s the sound of falling debris, and sometimes glass breaking, after each impact. 

Barnes grunts to Cap, “Keep going,” and knows the noises he’s hearing inside the building are his team taking cover.

Now they can feel the impacts, and they’re definitely getting closer. Just as they reach this floor, Barnes reaches out for Cap, putting a hand on his arm to stop him from cutting at the last of the drywall around the third arrow in Natasha’s body. Something big enough to block most of the sunlight coming through the windows darkens the room for a moment, but the noises and slight shake of the building continue, and the shadow passes. The sounds begin to get fainter. 

“That was a Hulk, but I don’t know which one,” Clint says, as Cap cuts the last inch of drywall.

Natasha lurches forward with a cry, but only a half-inch or so before Barnes and Cap catch her. Barnes adjusts his position, putting an arm under her knees and slowly, carefully, pushing his left hand behind her back, easing her forward while Cap frees the arrows, with little circles of drywall around them, from the wall. Barnes holds Natasha as still as he can while he stands. She doesn’t regain consciousness, but she moans. 

Barnes frowns. “Otto can send them anywhere, but I hope I’m right that our Tower is the safer one right now."

“Been thinkin’ about that. I think the big explosion was Abominable Stark blowing the labs. That would mean the Hulk we just saw was his,” Cap says. “Either way, if they just blew the floor where all the wounded were, that means the medics here are probably all out of commission. Besides, if evil Stark and Hulk are here, Fury is, too. You’re right, your universe is the better choice.”

Barnes makes a quick decision. “All right. Let’s cut Clint out and—”

He turns to look at Clint and is shocked to see that, while they’ve worked for the last few minutes, He’s managed to use his left arm to pull the arrow from his flank. He’s bleeding freely, but still conscious. “Get these the fuck out of me. I’ll get Tasha home, and you do what you gotta.”

“That’s gonna—” Cap begins.

“Just do it. She’s gut-shot. We don’t have a lot of time.”

“Hey,” Barnes tells him, even as he signals Cap to do what Clint’s asked. “I hear that note in your voice. I never like gettin’ knocked outta fights, either, but don’t you start feelin’ like you didn’t do your part. You killed this motherfucker.” He kicks at Abominable Clint’s corpse. “And you got his Natasha, too. You did great. Now save our Natasha, and we’ll call it a Hat Trick.”

Clint starts to argue, which is the point. He’s distracted as Cap quickly pulls the arrow from his left arm. He cries out nonetheless.

“Sorry, guy.”

“Nah, I told you to,” Clint croaks, sweat beading on his face and breathing hard. 

At that moment, a soft _whoosh_ and the delicate sound of feet gracefully hitting the floor can be heard, and Spider Man’s voice calls, “I brought Miss Mantis. Sorry it took so long. I had to wait for the Hulk to go inside. I don’t know what he’s doing, but he’s on one of the floors just above your friends. I think they’re gonna run into trouble.”

Cap chooses that moment of distraction to yank the final arrow from Clint’s body. 

Clint falls forward into his arms, and Cap lifts him effortlessly. He nods to Barnes, who carries Natasha past the rubble the team has cleared to an open space before a large window with very little glass left in it. A strong wind is blowing past the opening, which gives Barnes an idea.

“Listen, if Bucky’s about to take on a Hulk, he’s gonna need you more than we need a couple of additional soldiers.”

Spider Man leaps lightly to the window ledge. “Understood, Captain America, sir. I’ll go down there. And the Falcon, sir?”

“All of you – Falcon, the rest of Bucky’s team, you – go back Bucky up.”

“Aye aye, sir.” And he’s gone before Barnes can tell him the Army doesn’t say that. 

Mantis stands watching as Barnes and Cap gently lower their friends to the floor. They place them with their legs out in front of them and lean them against each other so that Clint can help support Natasha, keeping her from lying on the arrow points sticking out of her. 

Barnes nods to Mantis. She steps over to the injured Avengers and kneels. Putting a hand softly on each of their shoulders, she closes her eyes and her antennae begin to glow. Almost immediately, the pain lines in Natasha’s face ease, and Clint’s pupils dilate wide before he closes his eyes against the sunlight, his muscles relaxing. 

“Hey, that’s… Wow, thanks, Mantis,” Clint practically hums.

“You are welcome,” she smiles. 

Barnes calls softly to Otto, the sorcerer. “Open a portal to Medical. Cap and I will go first, to make sure it’s safe.” To Clint he says, “I don’t know what kind of a welcome we’ll get. I don’t have comms to tell ‘em we’re coming. Sorry, this ain’t much of a rescue.”

“Yeah, I’ll expect better next time.” Clint laughs, grinning crookedly now that Mantis has relieved his and Natasha’s pain, at least for now.

Otto opens the portal and Barnes steps into it, shield out before him. Behind him, in the position that Barnes used to occupy, is Cap – finally carrying a big automatic weapon – ready to cover them. 

Although Medical in Stark Tower is crowded and chaotic, there’s no fighting happening. There is only a horde of medical personnel treating injuries caused by the three Abominables. Barnes and Cap quickly determine that it’s safe, and lift Clint and Natasha onto gurneys that are quickly whisked over to them. None of the staff seems particularly surprised to have seen a portal to another universe open up in the middle of their trauma unit.

An idea hits Barnes and Cap simultaneously. They turn to each other and begin speaking at the same time.

“Thor and –”

“The others—”

They don’t bother finishing their sentences, each knowing they’re on the same page. Barnes yanks his cell phone from a pocket of his belt and punches Hill’s number. She answers on the first ring.

“How are you calling me?”

“I’m here. In Medical. Where’s Thor?”

“I’m looking at him. We think the Abominables—”

“Get him and his team down here right fucking now. The Abominables are in Cap’s Tower.”

“Understood, Captain. I’ve got you on speaker, so they heard you. They’re already en route.”

The next minute, as the Asgardians, along with Black Panther and the Hulk, make their way to Medical, seems like an eternity. Barnes looks at Otto. “You okay to hold the portal?”

Otto shrugs. “I can do this all day.”

“That’s my line,” Cap grumbles.  
  


* * *

After a careful trek down rubble-strewn stairs, Bucky team reaches the door from the stairwell to the sixteenth floor. It’s askew on its hinges, blown out of place by the explosion. The door, which opens outward into the stairwell, is hopelessly wedged. Bucky has to use the brute strength of his metal arm to make the massive fire door bow out by pulling on the handle before he can get his metal fingers through the small separation between the door and its frame. From there, he wraps the fingers of his left hand around the edge of the door and, with a loud groan, tears it off its hinges. 

There’s not much left of the sixteenth floor. It’s a blackened, blasted mess of ash and twisted lumps of unrecognizable rubble. A search through the grotesque wreckage yields only bodies – and body parts, which is even more horrifying. The explosion seems to have occurred on the side of the room where they entered, and this is confirmed when Bucky damn near falls through a five-foot by three-foot hole blown through the floor. He can see fire on the floor below. 

“Hey, Tostig, you better go down to fifteen and see what’s burning. Put it out, or lemme know if it’s a problem.”

The Asgardian soldier touches the flat of his blade to his forehead in acknowledgement, then makes his way to the blown-out windows to see whether he can simply rappel down, rather than have to deal with another potentially stuck door. Seeing that the windows below are blown out, too, he takes the coil of rope from his belt and prepares. 

Bucky and Groot continue their search for survivors. Tostig has already made his way to the floor below when, from the corner of his eye, Bucky sees Groot drop into a defensive position. Groot is near the opposite wall from the site of the explosion. Swinging his weapon in that direction, prepared to cover him, Bucky sees that Groot is looking down at a metal desk tipped onto its face, so that the bottom is toward Bucky. There’s a tall, metal file cabinet leaning against it, so he can’t see whatever Groot is reacting to. 

Bucky says nothing, but makes his careful, near-silent way over to Groot. As he approaches, he can hear a faint scuffling, and the barest sound of a moan. Holding his weapon ready, Bucky signals for Groot to tip the desk up. Whoever is underneath it, they were shielded by the metal office furniture and their location in the room from the brunt of the blast. They’re probably still badly hurt, but Bucky’s not taking a chance that they’re not also hostile. 

Groot takes a good hold of the edge of the desktop and, nodding a silent count of three, he flips the desk up, tipping the file cabinet away from the direction it had been leaning to fall with a resounding crash onto the floor, the desk now lying on top of it. 

Bucky finds himself holding his M249 Paratrooper SAW on his own, unconscious wife.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading! Please let me know what you think - comments are life! <3<3<3


	32. Stark's Revenge

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bucky finds a badly-shaken Marya and needs to get her to safety and help. Abominable Stark and Hulk make their move. Cap goes to try to rescue Tony, but not without saying goodbye to Barnes. Nobody knows what Fury's doing, and something doesn't seem right. Phil Coulson might just be glad he was trapped in the parking garage.

* * *

Bucky tosses his SAW aside like it’s already forgotten, kneeling down beside Marya. “Sweetheart, what the hell—”

She’s bloody and filthy, dyed-brown hair over half escaped from the braid she’d put it in this morning, with some cuts and bruises he can see and holes in her tac suit hinting at others. Still, she doesn’t look much worse than she usually does after an ugly fight. Those holes in her suit, though… Bucky quickly begins to check them. The first is a graze to her left upper arm. He doesn’t like it, but she’d call it irrelevant. The next is a hole in her mid-abdomen, just to the side of the strap for her MP5K. This one, thank God, doesn’t have a corresponding wound. Bucky looks around for one, but there’s none. A grim grin twists his lips as he continues with his examination. There’s probably a story behind that. Some kind of acid, maybe? He finds no other bullet wounds, but another of those woundless holes in one thigh of her suit. There’s a tear that looks like she probably just escaped a knife so that it cut her suit but not her. “That’s my girl,” he murmurs. 

All in all, it looks like being knocked unconscious by the explosion is the worst of her wounds. She’s less injured than she sometimes gets. He’s relieved as hell, but now he’s wondering what she’s doing here. Isn’t she supposed to be in Prague? 

“Hey, Sleeping Beauty,” he calls softly, cradling her head in his flesh hand. “You in there?”

Her eyes flutter, but she doesn’t respond. Bucky looks at Groot. “I don’t know what to do here. I got a switch, but…”

A rhythmic sound that had been just on the edge of consciousness begins to get louder. With his supersoldier hearing, Bucky quickly guesses what it is. But the last he knew, both Hulks were supposed to be in another universe right now. This could be bad. Very bad. On the other hand, it could be good if it’s Bucky’s Hulk. 

It’s a very long time to wait to see whether it’s disaster or salvation they can hear coming toward them. 

A long, breathless minute later, during which Bucky straps his SAW back on and Groot helps him arrange as much cover as they can quietly and fast, there’s a tremendous crash and the sounds stop. Bucky and Groot look at each other. 

“I am Groot,” he says quietly.

“If you’re sayin’ he might be on the floor above with the rest of our team, I don’t think so. We’d hear fighting by now. I think he’s a floor or two above that.” Bucky looks down at Marya. “Now what the fuck am I supposed to do?”

Her eyes flutter open, then close again. After a second, they flutter back open.

“Hey, Baby! Welcome back,” Bucky says softly, resuming his kneeling position at her side. “You with me?”

“Mmmmm…” she groans. “I am awake,” she mumbles in Russian, which sends a chill through Bucky. She only falls back to Russian when she’s badly hurt. 

He sticks with English. “How’d you get here? What are you _doing_ here?”

“Brother—” she manages to answer, still in Russian.

“Dmitriy sent you here? Are you hurt worse than it looks?”

“Hydra… lab—”

“What?! Holy shit, Marya, did they—”

But she’s weakly shaking her head. “’M all right.”

“Yeah, that’s what you always say, and it’s always a lie.” He tries to grin, but it’s not working very well. He takes her hand and kisses it. He knows he’s probably holding it a little too tight, but she’s really scaring him, continuing to speak Russian and looking so lost. “Did Hydra do something to you?”

“Found… a lab. They killed… my team.”

“Oh, Sweetheart!” Bucky can’t hide his horror for a moment. It takes him a few beats to get his emotions, and his expression, back under control. When he does, he croons and leans down to kiss her forehead tenderly. She stiffens and actually recoils a bit, which tells him all he needs to know about how finding a Hydra lab has affected her. “I’m so sorry. I got you, Marya. We’re okay. It’s gonna be okay. Listen, though, I gotta get you outta here. You can’t fight like this, and this Tower isn’t safe. Obviously,” he laughs humorlessly, looking around at the bombed-out floor. “You’re gonna have to use your switch.”

She blinks at him, her brow furrowing slightly. “I don’t—"

“You still have it, right?” Instinctively, he reaches across her and unsnaps the pouch on her tac vest where he knows she stored her switch. He pulls it out. “Good.”

Bucky lifts Marya’s hand and sets the switch in it. “I need you to use this. I know you’ll show up in Tony’s lab, but you should be able to call Medical for help from there, and it looks like the Abominables are back, so you should be safe.”

Marya looks fuzzily at the switch in her hand, frowning. 

“Just do it, Marya. I see you getting ready to argue, and just don’t. I know you’re gonna say you can still fight, and we just do not have time for that conversation. All right?”

As glassy as her eyes are, he’s not surprised that she’s struggling for words. 

“Good. That’s settled.” Bucky says quickly, and it’s a mark of the severity of Marya’s condition that she doesn’t react to that. He leans down and kisses her softly, noting with distress that same fearful response. “It’ll be okay. You’ll be safe back home. I love you, Sweetheart. So much.”

He sits up and shuffles back a few inches. “Okay. Flip the switch.”

She looks at it for a second, then pushes the little toggle, and simply disappears. As many times as he’s seen that, Bucky’s never going to get used to it. But it means Marya’s taken care of, and he’s got a fight to finish. He needs to get back to the rest of his team.  
  


* * *

If there’s good news about the Abominable Iron Man and Hulk – and almost certainly, Nick Fury, too – being back in Avengers Tower, it’s that the Liberators don’t have to go looking for them. Barnes has had enough of skulking around flushing out Hydra dicks. A straight-up fight will be a nice change. 

Almost immediately after sorcerer Otto closes the portal to Stark Tower, he’s blown across the open space and through a wall by a repulsor beam shot in through the window. In seconds, there’s a full-blown firefight happening. Mantis takes a hit, but fortunately it’s from a hunk of something heavy sent airborne by a repulsor, rather than the repulsor beam itself. She’s alive, but badly hurt, and out of the fight. There’s no sorcerer to send her to safety, so Barnes shouts an order to use her switch to get out of harm’s way. 

With so many supers on the Liberators’ side, this should be a one-sided fight. The problem is, Iron Man can, and does, take all the bullets they want to shoot at him. He can also dive out the window and fire wrist rockets into the building, keeping the Liberators under whatever cover they’ve found. So the Hulk, who doesn’t care much about bullets, either, climbs out after him. Without the Hulk Buster armor, Iron Man can’t hurt him much, and the Hulk can jump ridiculous distances, so just knocking him off the Tower isn’t going to work. 

While Iron Man’s hovering just out of Hulk’s reach, trying to fire into the floor the Liberators are on, Cap scrambles from his position to where Barnes is hunkered behind the shield, lower half protected by a heavy cabinet.

“You and the Hulk keep Iron Man busy. Let me take the Black Panther and Sif. They’re the stealthiest. We’ll see if we can find our Tony. We’ll look for Fury and try to get rid of him, too.”

“Do it,” Barnes grunts without taking his eyes off Iron Man.

Cap doesn’t move for a second, just remains crouched next to Barnes, looking at him. Barnes turns his head. “What?”

“You kissed me,” Cap says. Of all the times to have a goofy grin on his face.

“You want to talk about this _now_?“

“Don’t wanna talk about it, no.” Cap leans in and the next thing Barnes knows, his face is between Cap’s hands and he’s being kissed stupid in the middle of a firefight. He really should break away and send Cap on his self-appointed mission. And he will. In just a moment. 

Because if the kiss in the gym was incendiary, this one is – well, Barnes is pretty preoccupied at the moment, what with the superbattle for the Earth, his awkwardly-timed boner, and everything – so he’ll have to decide how to describe it later. But it’s really, really good. 

“Are you serious?” T’Challa’s incredulous voice hisses from very nearby.

Cap is smiling like he already won this battle all by himself when he pulls away just enough to look into Barnes’s eyes. “You’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen,” he breathes.

Barnes has some very harsh words on the tip of his tongue (which, incredibly given the circumstances, has just been in Cap’s mouth), and he’s giving Cap the meanest glare he’s capable of. But what comes out of his mouth is, “You be careful. Carry your damn SAW.”

That is not at all what he meant to say, but Cap’s already crouch-running across the floor with Sif and T’Challa. Barnes is glad at the moment that there are a bunch of enhanced beings in the room, because it’s gonna take a minute to gets his brain back online.

* * *

Upon reaching the seventeenth floor of Avengers Tower, Bucky is happy to see that the workspaces were delineated only by low half-walls, so that even the ones still standing allow him to see across the entire floor. That’s especially useful because, down this low, the floors are very large. He’s glad not to have to search for his team. He finds them hunkered down, just listening to the Hulk’s heavy stomping on the floor above. There are frequent thuds, often followed by the sound of things falling. Bucky’s surprised to see Sam behind a makeshift barricade, his wings folded before him like a shield. As quietly as he can, he makes his way over to Sam and puts a hand on his shoulder.

“If I forgot to say it, I’m glad you’re not dead.” 

“That makes two of us,” Sam grins, slapping Bucky on the back. “This guy upstairs. It’s the Abominable.”

“’Course it is. Be too easy otherwise. But why aren’t you—”

“Barnes thought you needed backup more than he does.”

“Huh. Cool of him.”

“He needed Mantis, though. Hawkeye and the Widow took out Abominable Clint, but they got hurt doin’ it. They’ll be all right,” he says, because he knows that’ll be the next question.

“So what’s this Hulk doing?” Bucky asks, instead.

“Spidey’s hangin’ outside a window, watchin’ him right now. We’ll find out soon.”

For the next ten minutes, the team waits and listens, while Bucky tries not to worry about Marya and quietly teases Sam just for something to do. Sam finally scowls at him over a grin that’s trying to be born and says, “Aren’t you supposed to be some kinda icon? Grow up, why don’t you? Little kids look up to you.”

“No, they don’t. In our universe, they never heard of Captain America. And the old people who remember him think he’s fake. I’m good.”

Through gritted teeth, Sam says, “In this universe, you’re an icon. When in Rome, and all that shit. Dumbfuck.”

“Thought I was Dumb _ass_. Barnes is—”

At that moment, Spider Man lands soundlessly on the window ledge and slowly, carefully makes his way over to Bucky and Sam so as not to make any noise among the rubble and broken things everywhere. 

“What took you so long?” Sam complains.

“I’m sorry, sir. I thought I should let Captain Barnes know where the bad Hulk is, and what he’s doing.”

“Good thinking, kid,” Bucky tells him, impressed. Having no comms is really hampering this mission. “So now tell us. What’s he doing?”

“He’s looking for something, I think. Or checking something. I don’t know. He makes holes in the walls sometimes.”

“Hidden weapon?” Bucky guesses.

Sam makes a face. “In _Legal_? Why wouldn’t it be up in Stark’s domain?”

For a moment, none of them say anything as they try to figure out what the Hulk might be looking for. Finally, Bucky shrugs and says, “I got nothin’. What, besides a weapon, could be on that floor that they need right now, in the middle of an attack?”

“I dunno, but it seems like, whatever it is, we oughtta make sure he doesn’t find it.”

“I agree, Mr. Falcon, sir,” Spider Man says. “Maybe we could try to lure him away from there and… then we could—”

He’s stopped by the look on Bucky’s face. He and Sam exchange a look, but very soon they hear it, too. The same noise they’d heard when the Hulk climbed down the building. It’s a little different this time, as though their Hulk is using the holes made by his predecessor. And then there’s a roar and a shadow at the window, as the Hulk on the floor above goes out to meet his double. 

“Looks like Barnes already thought of that. Not that I wouldn’t pay money to watch a Hulk-fight, but let’s not waste the chance they’re givin’ us.” 

“How do you know that’s what this is?” Sam asks.

“Because he’s me, and we’re a genius.” Bucky signals to the team and they make their way to the stairwell, not bothering to be too quiet, since the Abominable Hulk is making enough noise to cover any sound they might make.  
  


* * *

  
The floor above the armory is the hangar, from which the landing pad juts out over the street eighty-some stories below. The damage there is severe. One look tells Cap that the Quinjet currently stored there won’t be flying anytime soon. The hangar is still dangerously open space, so Cap, T’Challa, and Sif search it as quickly as they can. Satisfied it’s uninhabited, they make their way to the floor above by climbing the outside of the building. It’s not hard to know that the Hulks won’t see them, because they’re making an incredible amount of noise slugging it out on the other side of the Tower.

Iron Man, however, is very close. He’s still tormenting Barnes and his team on the floor below, which means the only thing keeping him from seeing them is that he’s below the landing pad and they’re above it. If he decides to change positions…

They climb quickly and make it to the first of the lab floors without being seen. It’s devastated. There is so much damage that Sif wonders aloud whether the structure of the top of the Tower is even stable. 

“I think so, for now,” Steve answers. “Besides, we gotta find Tony and Fury.”

This floor is much harder to search than the hangar, because there are several rooms to this floor, all lab space but used for different things. There’s wreckage everywhere, and a few small fires still burning. The search is slow going. 

“I hope that Barnes can keep Iron Man’s attention now that the Hulk is busy,” T’Challa notes, saying aloud what they’re all thinking. 

The only good thing about this search is that there are no bodies. After almost a half-hour, the team decides there’s no sign of their quarry, and again uses the outside of the building to climb to the floor above.

That’s where they find Tony. 

He’s not doing anything but watching the Hulks fighting in the shard of a mirror he’s rigged up so that they don’t see him. One glance tells the team why that’s all he’s doing. First, there’s nothing left of this floor for him to be working on. Second, his right leg is obviously broken and he’s covered in burns. There’s little left of his T-shirt (Cap thinks it had a picture of a group called the Ramones, although he doesn’t know who that is). Most of his chest is exposed, including a wide swath of burned flesh. His right arm is held tightly to his side, tied there with scraps of some kind of fabric, charred at the edges. 

Despite his wounds, Cap is concerned the most by the fact that Tony doesn’t seem to react much when he sees them. When they reach him, however, Cap reassesses that thought. It’s not that he didn’t react, it’s that his face is so bruised and swollen that he really _can’t._ Couple that with a body so broken that a startle reflex wouldn’t be obvious, and, well…

“Tony, oh, man…”

“What, you don’t like my new look?” Tony’s voice is garbled by his swollen lips and whatever other damage there is to his mouth that Cap can’t see.

“Why did you not use your switch to escape to your universe?” Sif asks as she kneels to see if she can do anything for his wounds. 

“Don’t touch me. Please. I mean, I understand the impulse, and I appreciate it, but seriously. Don’t. Also…” he holds up the remains of a switch, case badly dented and wires sticking out. The toggle is simply missing. “It’s dead, Jim.”

“Here, Tony,” Cap says quickly. “Use mine.”

“No. Listen. They’re up to something. Fury’s one floor up.” It takes concentration and patience to make out what he’s saying, between his injuries and the fact that he’s trying to be quiet. All three of the would-be rescuers lean in to listen. “There’s some kind of bomb-proof pod thing, with what looks like electronics inside. I don’t know what it is or what it’s for, but whatever it is, it’s not working right. He sent the Hulk to fix something, but I couldn’t hear what he said.”

“How do you know that?” T’Challa asks.

Cap is sure Tony is trying to give T’Challa his benevolent higher being look right now. He points to a piece of charred metal just outside the remains of the window. T’Challa and Sif go as close as they dare, to see that Tony’s jury-rigged a series of metal pieces and parts together that poke up about a third of the way to the floor above.

“That was longer before Abominable Shrek went walkabout outside. There was a camera on it. I salvaged some video crap from down here and hooked it up to my phone so I could see what they were up to. I knew they were there because that’s where I was when they came back. Good thing those portals make like sparklers before they open, so I had time to dive out the window.”

“What was that explosion? How’d you get caught in it? Why didn’t your armor protect you?” Cap asks.

“Okay, Cap, talking is hard right now? So the Cliff’s Notes version is I didn’t see the explosion coming, obviously. So I wasn’t wearing the armor at the time. When they got here, they were looking for me. Knew I’d be up here. So I thought I’d remote pilot the armor, make it a decoy. Worked a little better than I wanted – ‘cause I’m just that good – and Stark blew it up. You didn’t see that?”

“Been a lot of explosions today, Tony. You can’t expect us to pay attention to every one,” Cap shrugs. “Tell us about the big one.”

“They meant to do it. Only reason for the bombproof pod thing.”

Cap wants very much to dispute that, given the number of unintentional explosions that happen in these labs, but he doesn’t because Tony’s hurt. Besides, it suddenly hits him. “Jarvis.”

“Yeah. They killed Jarvis and Friday. At least here in this universe. Makes sense. If they can’t use Friday, they’re not gonna let us. But it means we can’t get to Jarvis from here, either. It also destroyed all his projects, so we couldn’t steal his stuff.” Tony scoffs as best he can in his condition. “Like I’d need to. People steal ideas from _me_.”

“How’d you survive?” Lady Sif asks, to get him back on topic.

“I thought I heard ‘em coming, and I was under a workbench at the time. So, basically, sheer dumb luck. Useful thing to have. Although if I was a cat I think I’d be about eight lives down by now.”

“At least,” Cap agrees. “But now you gotta get out of here. We’ll figure out what Fury’s doing and stop him. You go home and get to Medical.”

“No. You might need me.”

“Tony—”

“No, dammit! No offense to you guys, you’re all very powerful and muscular. Calendar-worthy even. But you’re not me. Without Jarvis, I’m the only way you’re gonna be able to science.”

“Well, Banner—”

“Banner is currently clinging to the side of this building playing Fight Club with his evil twin. I’m it, Capsicle. Now quit making me talk. Find a way to get me some intel about whatever the fuck Fury’s up to.”

* * *

Bucky sees one of the Hulks get thrown into a neighboring skyscraper. He winces, because he can see all the people down on the street watching the fight, and he imagines that there were people pressed up against the windows of that building just where there’s now a Hulk-sized section of busted-up glass, brick, and granite. He doesn’t want to blame the innocent, but when there are two Hulks fighting, the sensible reaction is not to watch. It’s to _duck._

Then he goes back to examining the holes made by the Abominable Hulk. _What’s inside the walls that he could want for a fight?_ The power’s been out since the first explosion, so that’s not it. But inside the holes, there’s nothing but electrical wiring. Maybe, if it’s a weapon, it’s powered by electricity? But if that’s the case, how the hell does knowing that help? The walls are full of wires. Does he rip them all out? 

The team is throwing around ideas when Bucky hears something that catches his attention. He signals for everyone to go silent and still. Then he hears it again. There’s someone here, somewhere on this floor. They’re being exceptionally quiet, but Bucky has supersoldier hearing. 

At first, he can’t tell where the sound is coming from. It’s a nightmare to try to figure it out, with all the collapsed workspace dividers and jumbled, upended office furniture. 

At Bucky’s signal, every member of the team except him takes cover. Bucky himself begins to move toward the sound. He silently crosses the floor, stopping every few steps to listen. In that way, he manages to follow the sound to one corner of the room, where there’s a thick, square support column, about three feet on a side. The noise is coming from a metal door, about two feet high and painted the same color as the column. It actually looks like it’s painted shut. He doesn’t know what it’s for, but he guesses that something – pipes, maybe? – runs up the building inside the column, and this is an access panel. 

As he stands to the side of the column, looking down at the little door, Sam comes to stand on the other side. He looks a question at Bucky, who just shrugs. Sam points to Bucky’s left arm, then to the door, and pantomimes opening it. Then he aims both his semiautomatic weapons at it. Bucky thinks for a second, but doesn’t have a better plan, so he takes a position next to Sam, where the door will open away from them both. He bends down. Slowly, silently, he takes a hold of the lever handle. When he’s ready, he nods at Sam and mouths, “One.” Then “Two.”

On three, he pushes the handle down and yanks with his full strength on the door. He only means to open it, but he’d overestimated its solidity, and it comes off in his hand. Whatever. That works, too.

Suddenly, he’s staring into the face of a very surprised Phil Coulson, who squints at the light and drops the flashlight he’d been holding in his teeth as his jaw falls open.

“Coulson, what…?” Sam exhales, taking his guns out of the guy’s face.

“Thank God,” Coulson says, when he recovers a little. He’s standing on a ladder bolted to the wall inside the column, which does, in fact, have pipes inside. “Are all of you here?”

“What?” Bucky asks sharply.

“Listen, you gotta get outta here. This whole building’s rigged to blow. We’ve been trying to figure out how to disable it, but this Stark tech is like nothing we’ve ever seen.”

“ _What?!_ How do you…”

“Friday locked down the parking garage, and we got caught. We had to crawl up this building’s rectum to get out, and it’s a damn good thing we did. Ran into a metric crapton of explosives, all nice and cozy, just ready to implode the Tower.”

“Holy shit! How long do we have?” Sam cries.

“No, you don’t get it,” Coulson tells him. “These aren’t new. Apparently, Stark wired the building so he can drop it if he ever has to. Plenty of charge, all wrapped up tight so the Tower’ll just collapse right into its own footprint.”

“Thoughtful. What a good neighbor,” Bucky drawls. 

Sam’s impatience takes the form of a loud grunt. “I repeat – _when?_ ”

“That’s the point,” Coulson answers from inside the column. “Anytime he wants. And I ran into the rest of the SHIELD forces awhile ago. I know you’ve pretty much cleared Hydra out of the Tower, which means so does Stark. He won’t lose this building, Sergeant. I’m telling you, he’ll blow it rather than let that happen. You gotta get the rest of your guys out. I’ve already got every SHIELD agent from the building evacuated and out there trying to clear the streets.”

Bucky turns to Sam, who doesn’t need an order. He simply says, “I’ll tell Barnes,” then shouts out to Spider Man. “Hey, Kid! We got work to do!” 

The rest of the team seems shocked that he’s no longer bothering with quiet, but as he and Spider Man shoot out the window, Bucky’s already yelling orders to them. He pulls Coulson out of the column at the same time he’s telling them they all need to get the hell out of here. 

Because Bucky suddenly has an idea. A horrible, terrible, unthinkable idea that he’s pretty sure Coulson is going to love.

  
* * *

Barnes is starting to think there’s something wrong with this situation. Iron Man’s just circling the building, shooting repulsor beams and wrist rockets, with occasional side trips to collect things to throw in the windows. He’s launched large, polished-wood desks, file cabinets full of paper (Stark Industries still uses paper?), a couple of compact cars… a host of things that will rattle the invaders. 

But not kill them. 

Barnes scuttles over to where Rocket is reloading small grenades into his ridiculously oversized weapon. So far, he’s fired several, but Stark’s just too fast. He keeps dodging them so they explode harmlessly in mid-air above the street far below. “Hey, Rocket, you got a weird feeling about this?”

“Well, I gotta take a leak, if that’s what you mean.”

“That is _not_ what I mean. What I mean is, why are you the only one shooting grenades? I’m sure Stark has something like that. Why isn’t he usin’ ‘em?”

Rocket cocks his weapon and thinks for a second. “Well, some of us would probably survive that. I mean, not you, ‘cause you’re mostly squishy human, but me, probably, and Thor…”

“Yeah, but he’d be sure to get some of us. And instead of his Hulk bein’ out there gettin’ his ass kicked, he could just send him in here. He’d get at least a few of us, too.”

They take a moment to watch Thor again shout out the window, challenging Abominable Stark to “fight him like a man!” Poor Thor, he’s incredibly frustrated because there’s almost nothing he can do here without Mjölnir. He tried throwing a few things back at Stark, but that ended badly. Stark easily dodged them, which meant they went crashing into nearby buildings, or fell down onto the crowded street below. But Stark just waves at him.

It’s all wrong. 

He’s up to something. 

When he sees Sam engage Iron Man, Barnes knows Bucky must have a reason for sending him out there. So he isn’t surprised to see Spider Man enter their floor from the other side of the building. The kid leaps from item to item across the floor until he’s crouched on all fours on an upturned credenza, then begins to chatter excitedly.

“You guys gotta get out of here, Captain America, sir. Agent Coulson says the building’s rigged to explode!”

“The building’s— Holy fuck, that’s what he’s doing,” Barnes mutters, mostly to himself, then looks at Rocket. “He’s just trying to keep us here while Fury sets off the explosives.”

“Well, why hasn’t he?” Rocket asks. “We’ve been here a while.”

“I don’t know, sirs,” Spider Man answers, “But when the Hulk was down on the seventeenth floor, he was looking for something. Sergeant Barnes and his team are down there now, but they can’t figure out what it might have been.”

“Looking for something…” Barnes hums to himself thoughtfully.

“Yes, sir. The Sergeant talks to himself, sir, just like you’re doing, and he keeps asking what could be in the walls down there that the Hulk would need in the middle of a fight.”

Barnes begins giving orders for everyone to evacuate the tower even as he ponders this. He doesn’t really have time for riddles; he needs to get his people to safety. 

He suddenly flashes on Cap and his team. 

“Damn it, I wish we had comms!” he hisses between shouted orders.

Not everyone has a switch, and with Otto dead, Barnes sends Hogun back to Stark Tower with his own switch. “Bring back a sorcerer. Any sorcerer. Get these people out of here!”

Barnes then turns back to Spider Man. “I don’t know where Cap and his team are. They went to find Tony and Fury, but we’ve gotta find them and get them out while our guys have the Abominable Hulk and Iron Man busy.”

“Aye aye, sir,” Spider Man chirps. “I’ll do it.”

“The floors are pretty small up here near the top, but it’s still gonna take both of us.” Barnes turns to Rocket. “You’re in charge. Get everybody out of here. Signal Sam and tell him to get out, too. Then you go.”

“I’ll help you find Cap,” Rocket protests.

“The hell you will. Get to safety. You don’t wanna be here if Stark’s really gonna blow the Tower.”

With that, Barnes sprints for the stairwell, and Spider Man bounds across the floor to leap out the window again. 

Rocket signals Sam, who flies close enough that the two of them can have a shouted conversation while Rocket fires his weapon just often enough to keep Stark at bay. After a hurried conversation, during which Sam smiles broadly, Rocket tosses him his grenade launcher and sprints for the other side of the building. 

He makes his way easily down the building’s exterior, narrowly avoiding one of the Hulks, who’s just been thrown into the side of the Tower. He probably should have thought to look before he started down the building, he thinks, but oh, well. He knows immediately that this Hulk is the right Hulk when, although he’s close enough to smash Rocket with his fist, he doesn’t. 

So Rocket takes the opportunity to leap up onto his shoulder, have a quick conversation with him before the _other_ “other guy” arrives, then resumes scrambling downward. 

Rocket likes Barnes. He also feels like he’s got a better than even shot at that arm. But Rocket doesn’t follow orders as a general principle, and he has a way better idea than just running away. Blowing up a skyscraper? Count him the hell in. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi, friends! Thank you so very much for reading. If you have thoughts about the story, please comment. I'd love to hear from you! <3<3<3
> 
> (Also, sorry for beating the crap out of so many Avengers.)


	33. The Inevitable

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The battle for Avengers Tower ends at last, and the team returns to Stark Tower. Barnes has deja vu when he has to glare Cap into getting treatment for his stab wound. Bucky, too, is treading familiar ground as the doctors try to get Marya to consent to a brain scan and she insists she's fine. After Cap's stitched up, Barnes learns that they both have the same reaction to leftover endorphins from a fight.

* * *

Tony Stark is _pissed._ Fucking Steve Rogers brings these assholes to invade his planet, his Tower, and he thought Stark was just gonna give it to him? Oh, _hell_ no. Even if Stark had to destroy it himself, Steve Rogers and his new pals were never going to get Avengers Tower. He had been forced to blow up his labs, and would’ve blown up his penthouse if Pepper hadn’t been trapped up there by that fucking hammer of Thor’s. But that turned out to be a good thing, since Stark didn’t end up having to lose his penthouse after all. And now he isn’t going to lose any more of his Tower, either.

Because they’re gone. All of them. Even the bodies of the invaders who died are gone. Of course, a whole hell of a lot of Stark’s people are gone, too – he doesn’t want to think too much about where they might’ve taken them, or why – but the important thing is that the invaders are gone, and Rogers with them. They’re still all over the planet, but not in his Tower, and that’s all Stark really cares about. What Fury’s been able to resurrect of poor Friday is a barely-functional disaster right now, but she was at least able to confirm that there are only three people left alive in the Tower: Pepper, the Hulk, and Fury. 

The minute that fake Falcon had flown in to challenge him, Stark had known it had to be part of some kind of plot. Everyone – including Sam Wilson – knew that the Falcon had no chance of beating Iron Man. Apparently, he’d understood that Stark was working without an AI, so Wilson knew he might have a shot at survival, but he couldn’t have thought he could win. And then their Hulk had challenged his, tying up the two remaining Avengers. Clearly that had been part of the plan, too.

Now Stark knows what the plan had been. Rogers had been buying time to get everybody out, because apparently the invaders knew they couldn’t hold the Tower once Stark and the Hulk made it back. They might’ve had a shot if they still had their Tony Stark, but Stark had taken that imposter out almost immediately. After that, he had been free to take his sweet time toying with Rogers and his buddies while they cowered behind heaps of trash on the floor below the landing pad. Even Thor was basically helpless to do anything about it without his hammer, reduced to yelling insults out the window, for fuck’s sake. At least he’d taken the damn thing with him when he left, so Pepper is free again.

But Stark is still pissed. First of all, he’s furious at himself for getting captured so fucking easily. If he and the Hulk had been there, Rogers never would’ve made it past the door of his lab. As it is, he’d come way closer to winning than he ever should have. Stark couldn’t have dropped the Tower if he’d needed to, because of the problem with the charges on seventeen. He’d had to send the Hulk to check it out, because the Tower had been crawling with invaders and there was no backup to send with him if he’d been Banner. And, as Stark had feared, he hadn’t been able to find even the node of detonators. If he had, then they might’ve been able to find a way to give him time to revert to Banner and fix the problem from there, but the invaders’ Hulk came snooping too quickly. Which means that, if it had come down to it, they would have had to find a way to get either Stark or Banner back down there to fix whatever was wrong before the invaders finished killing them all. 

And they’d killed quite enough of Stark’s Avengers. He belatedly realizes that probably should’ve been his first consideration. Fine, call him a cold-blooded asshole. Plenty of people do. 

At least he’d killed their Stark. In fact, he’d been pretty damn close to evening the score by killing their Falcon, too, before that fucking little traitor Parker had given Wilson some kind of signal and he’d just vanished. Since Stark is in such a shitty mood, he admits that Wilson had actually smirked and _then_ vanished. Followed immediately by Parker vanishing, too.

All of these cheerful thoughts go through Stark’s mind in the few seconds it takes to fly back to the top of the Tower, where Potts is waving her arms wildly. _Great. What now?_

Potts looks freaked out. And Potts doesn’t freak out. As he angles in the window to land facing her, he retracts his visor and tries to hide the fact that her freakout freaks _him_ out. 

“Why the face? They’re gone. We won!” he says with his best Tony Stark, Mogul™ smile. 

“Where’s Nick?” Potts cries in a voice he’s never heard before. He notices that she’s also glowing with a swirling, mottled heat he can feel on his face. 

“What are you talking about, he’s—” Stark turns to where Fury is working on reviving Friday in the safety pod.

Except he’s not there. And neither is the pod. The whole damn pod is gone, leaving the stubby ends of power connectors and data ports sticking out of the reinforced concrete where they used to attach to it.

The percussive thud of the Hulk climbing up the outside of the Tower tells Stark that the fake Hulk has apparently fucked off into the ether along with the fake Falcon and turncoat Spider Man. _What the hell._

The Hulk’s massive green scowl appears at the window, and he climbs in slowly. Then he simply sits down on the floor, exhausted. The three of them look at one another for a moment with no words coming to any of them. In fact, none of them says anything until Banner has reverted to himself and collapsed to lay supine on the floor with an arm across his face. 

Finally, Stark says to him, “They took Fury. Pod and all.”

Banner gives a slow, minimal shake of his head without removing his arm from where it covers his eyes. “No. He’s downstairs.”

“ _What?_ ”

“Don’t ask me,” Banner exhales slowly. “I don’t know anything. I just have a hazy memory of the Other Guy seeing him through the window. Still in the pod.”

“How— What— Is he alive?” Potts shrieks.

“I just told you everything I know. He’s somewhere around the middle of the building, I think. We’re gonna have to look for him.”

Which they do. Potts insists that they stay together, and Banner insists that they stop on the first floor where he might find some clothes. He ends up taking them off the corpses of dead Hydra agents on the floor below the landing pad, which Stark thinks doesn’t bother him as much as it should. As much as it would have, before everything that happened with Hydra. 

They find Fury on the thirtieth floor, which houses the Quality Control division. This floor is pretty much intact, except for the titanium and vibranium-glass pod sitting in the midst of a group of crushed cubicles. Fury’s sitting on a rolling chair, just staring at it as though that will get him answers if he just waits long enough. 

Potts goes to Fury and fusses over him until he sharply tells her that he doesn’t have a scratch on him, and barks at her to back off. 

“They transported the whole damn pod, with him in it, down sixty floors,” Stark muses quietly to himself.

Banner scratches his head and asks, “Why would they do that?”

“I don’t care why as much as I want to know _how.”_ Stark starts poking around the pod to see what kinds of clues there might be, and quickly becomes annoyed with the cumbersome weight and bulk of his suit. He retracts it and sets it aside, continuing his explorations for a moment in holey jeans and a faded, stretched-out T-shirt with a logo for the Agnes Denmeister School for Girls in New Brunswick, New Jersey.

That’s when the voice of Steve Rogers says, “Hello, Tony.”

It’s tinny, as though it’s coming from a bad speaker, like an old school walkie-talkie. Turns out, that’s exactly where it’s coming from. In one of the cubicles near where Fury’s sitting, Potts finds a rectangular box with a few buttons on the side and a plastic grate over a speaker that Stark guesses is old enough to order a martini. He uses the scanner in one of his gauntlets to determine that it’s not explosive; it contains nothing but ridiculously old-fashioned shit like wires and transistors. Fucking _transistors._ Leave it to Rogers to use something from the days before color was invented. 

He pushes the oversized toggle on the side. “Hi, Steve. Nice of you to leave my Tower. You weren’t exactly welcome guests.”

“Oh, I’m still there. You’re talking to me, right?”

Stark rolls his eyes. “And I suppose you’re going to threaten me now if I don’t surrender?”

“No. I’m not going to threaten. But I am giving you a chance to surrender. Any of you. You’re right about that. You’ll face justice. You’ll have to. But you won’t be hurt. You have my word on that.”

“Hey, Steve? Can you just hang on a sec? I gotta puke a little bit, and then I’ll be right back.”

“Anybody else?” Steve asks, and they can hear the note of genuine, anguished hope in his voice even as thin and metallic as it sounds coming through the cheap speaker. 

But Stark, Potts, Banner, and Fury remain silent.

“All right,” Steve’s voice sighs after a full minute. “I wish you’d chosen differently. I really do.”

The four people in the room with the displaced pod have time to look at one another for a moment. Stark’s face is disgusted, Potts’s is sad and concerned. Banner’s is just tired. And Fury wears no expression at all.

Then the carefully-calibrated and placed explosives bored into the support structures at the base of the tower are triggered. The sound is probably extremely loud, and the building is probably shaken hard, but there’s no time to hear or feel those things. A precisely-timed split second later, the charges on the seventeenth floor go off and gravity begins to claim Avengers Tower so fast that it’s already falling before the charges on the thirtieth floor explode. It’s possible they had a flash of sound or the sensation of falling first, but the last four Abominables are dead before the three tiers of charges on the floors above them go off.

About two hundred New Yorkers were being held back from the Tower by SHIELD agents and NYPD uniformed officers as they stood watching two Hulks fight while clinging to its exterior. Although there’s nothing to see right now, they’re hoping maybe there’ll be some more excitement. But they get more than they bargained for when the first sharp crack sounds, followed by a rolling boom deeper than thunder. They’re dumbstruck as a plume of heavy dust shoots from all sides of the base of Avengers Tower, and it takes them a second to begin to run. Even the fastest of them gets covered with a thick coat of that dust but, miraculously, no one is harmed by debris.

The lookie-loos don’t get to watch the Tower fall, because the cloud of billowing, roiling dust is so thick it obscures everything. They miss the almost graceful slump of the building into itself, all falling toward the center through the massive surge of rolling, brown grit that puffs ever higher and wider. They can hear the collapse, though. Huge chunks of the building smash into one another, becoming smaller chunks, which fall onto chunks below and crush them until what’s left, when the dark shroud of powdered concrete finally lifts, is an enormous, almost perfectly conical mound of unrecognizable debris. Where once stood a massive glass and steel building that was the subject of endless aesthetic debate, now there’s a void in the skyline. 

To those used to seeing the Tower every day, whether they thought it was beautiful or an abomination, it’s an uncomfortable sensation. For one thing, it’s way, way too familiar even after all the years since the World Trade Center attack. And for another, they don’t know how to feel about it. They understand that it must be part of the fight back against Hydra, but most of them still refuse to believe that the Avengers could possibly have been on the wrong side. A sizeable proportion of them never will, spawning endless conspiracy theories, urban legends, and Avengers sightings.

Cap doesn’t watch Avengers Tower implode. Barnes doesn’t either, instead distracting Cap by giving him as much shit as possible while they’re both having their wounds treated on the medical floor of Stark Tower. Barnes would normally refuse even to be examined, but there are two problems with that. First, Cap needs the distraction. Second, the only way Barnes can be sure Cap gets checked out, and gets that stab wound treated, is to stay there and make him. The situation is achingly familiar to everyone involved, for various reasons.

Anyway, whoever wants to watch the spectacle will be able to see the recording that Bucky, Rocket, and Coulson are making from a safe distance away. Coulson says SHIELD agents are also making recordings, so there’ll be a few different angles. That’s good, because Tony is going to be outraged that he missed it. 

He managed to spearhead the technical aspects of attaching a modified switch to the pod and sending it to the thirtieth floor before his injuries got the best of him and he lost consciousness. He’ll probably yell at Cap when he learns that he held him in his arms to transport him back to his universe, but that’s okay. In fact, Cap hopes Tony does yell at him, because that’ll mean he’s safely through surgery.

* * *  
  


“That was one of the most amazing things I’ve ever seen!” Coulson shouts, forgetting even to pretend to be cool. 

Rocket shrugs and says, “Yeah, that was pretty great.” There’s not much emotion in his voice, but his eyes are shining and he’s already trying to figure out how to replay the video. They spend the next few minutes exclaiming over what they’ve just seen.

Not Bucky. He’s still looking toward where Avengers Tower had stood, watching the slow, lazy swirl of dust drifting away from the site in all directions. Bucky doesn’t say anything, because he wouldn’t know where to begin trying to sort through all the feelings he has right this moment. He thinks it would be a lot like trying to sift through the rubble that is all that’s left of the Tower now. It’s not his Avengers Tower. But it’s still too close. Seeing it die has brought back way too many feelings about the loss of the Avengers he knew. Suddenly, he just wants to go home.

“Well done, fellas. But now that it’s over, I gotta get back. I wanna check on Marya.”

It takes several minutes to say goodbye to Coulson and Rocket after all they’ve just been through, but they all know they’ll see each other soon. There’s still a great deal of work to be done helping Cap’s Earth shake off Hydra and the effects of this close call. Besides, even though they don’t say it, both Coulson and Rocket can tell that something about the destruction of Avengers Tower has hit Bucky hard.

He flips his switch and he’s in Tony’s lab in Stark Tower. As he strides quickly toward the elevator and then has to wait for it to arrive, he thinks about his first arrival in this universe. Once again, he’s astounded by Tony Stark’s genius at perfecting the switch in so short a time. Sure, Stark’s early experiments hadn’t been that much of an improvement, but now moving between the universes is seamless, painless, and instant. It takes Bucky far longer to descend twenty-some floors in the same building than it did to travel here from Cap’s Earth. 

When he gets to Medical, it’s still a madhouse with all the injured from both the battle and from Fury’s rampage through this universe’s Tower. Bucky sees Cap, sitting stiffly on a gurney, being simultaneously examined by one of the doctors and glared at by Barnes. Cap’s shirtless, with the usual assortment of bruises and cuts they all have after a fight, and a thick bandage on his left shoulder. Approaching, Bucky catches Cap’s eye and points to it.

“Rumlow stabbed me.” Cap tells him. With a loaded look at Barnes, he adds, “It’s nothing.”

“Rumlow’s nothing,” Bucky responds. “Always hated that guy. He was Hydra in my universe.”

“Mine, too, as it turns out,” Cap says with a wan grin. 

Barnes looks Bucky quickly up and down, assessing. “You all right?”

“Yeah. You?”

Barnes grunts and nods. 

“Lookin’ for Marya. Do you know where they have her?”

“They’re keeping her for observation,” Barnes answers, inclining his head toward the far side of the Medical floor. “She’s in room six.”

“Okay, thanks. Heard from Dmitriy?”

“Yeah. Now that Jarvis is unhooked from Friday, Hill’s got comms pretty well back online. Dmitriy’s grumbling about gettin’ sucked into administrative shit. Says he’s got enough of that at home. He asked me to tell you to get in touch when you can and let him know about Marya.”

“I will.” Bucky doesn’t move to go right away, but instead stands watching the doctor uncover Cap’s stab wound and pull a suture tray toward the gurney. When Cap looks up, Bucky asks quietly, “You doin’ okay?” 

“I’m grateful as hell for everything you’ve done, Buck.”

“I know. Wasn’t really what I meant. Kinda rough, watchin’ that Tower fall. Lotta memories. And it wasn’t even my Tower.”

Cap nods sadly. “Yeah,” he sighs. When he doesn’t say anything more, Bucky lets it go.

“I’ll be in with Marya. Come by, if you want.” 

Cap gives Bucky a sad little smile and just nods again. Bucky lays a hand heavily on Barnes’s shoulder and gives a squeeze, then turns toward the door from the large treatment room to the hallway where the hospital rooms are. His back to Cap, he leans in toward Barnes and murmurs, “You got him, right?”

“I got him. Go see your wife.” If Barnes’s response is a little sharper than he means it to be, he knows Bucky will think it’s just annoyance at such a dumb question. He’s pretty sure he’s successfully hidden his flare of jealousy at the complex conversation and current of offered and accepted support that just passed between Cap and Bucky, needing only a few words. 

Bucky finds his feet moving faster as he leaves the treatment room. His mind quickly moves from what he’s just been through, what Cap’s just been through, to focus on Marya. Now that he can allow himself to think about it, he remembers how she’d looked, bloody and confused, buried under rubble on that bombed-out floor of Avengers Tower. When he reaches it, he finds the door to her room open only about a quarter of the way, enough to let some light from the hallway spill in. But the blinds are shut and the heavy drapes drawn, so it’s very dark otherwise. 

He knows from experience that means head injury. They’re minimizing stimuli like light and sound, which can be excruciating when your brain feels like it’s trying to blast its way out of your skull. He glides in silently to see that there’s a nurse at Marya’s bedside, taking in all the information on the monitors showing numbers, blinking dots, and squiggles on screens. As he steps up next to the bed, Bucky sees that Marya’s eyes are squeezed so tightly shut that there are stress lines radiating across her temples, and her brow is furrowed. He can’t see her very well, but she doesn’t look good. He takes her hand gently. 

The nurse completes his survey of the equipment surrounding the head of the bed and looks over at Bucky in the dim light. He tilts his head toward the door with a questioning look, and Bucky follows him out into the hall. They close the door most of the way, and the nurse turns toward Bucky, who motions him further down the hall. With her supersoldier hearing, Marya may be disturbed by a conversation right outside her door, no matter how quiet.

“It’s Adam, right?” Bucky asks the nurse. 

“That’s right, Sergeant. I’ve been your wife’s nurse since she was brought in. She denies being in pain, but as you can see, she certainly looks like she’s hurting.”

“She always denies being in pain. You know she hates anything medical. How bad is she hurt?”

“Some significant lacerations and bruising, but nothing broken and no internal injuries. It’s her level of consciousness that has us worried. She’s anxious and irritable, a little confused. It’s worrisome for a brain injury. We’re concerned about swelling, or an occult bleed. The scans we’ve done all look clear, but she won’t let us give her any contrast or do the deep scan.”

“Well, she’s always anxious and irritable when she’s the patient, but I thought we’d gotten past her refusing everything. I’ll talk to her.”

“Don’t wake her up, and don’t upset her, but yeah. Do what you can when she wakes up on her own to get her to agree.”

“Done. Thanks, Adam.”

Bucky goes back into the dark cave of Marya’s room, shutting the door behind him to keep out the light and noise. After today, the soft, dim cocoon it creates feels nice. He lifts a chair to set it down as quietly as he can next to the bed and again tenderly takes her hand in his. Relaxing back with his legs stretched out in front of him, he just sits, listening to Marya breathe and replaying the events of the day. 

He’s almost beginning to doze when he feels a tug on his hand and hears her groan softly as she changes position. He can see tiny glints in the gloom that tells him her eyes are open. He gives her hand a squeeze. “Hey,” he whispers.

“Привет.”

Shit. Russian again. Still. Bucky’s worry intensifies, but he stubbornly sticks to English. “How do you feel?”

She takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly. “Я в порядке,” she murmurs.

“’Course you are. How about you prove that by letting the docs scan that thick head of yours, hmmm?”

“Мне это не нужно.”

“We gonna have this same conversation again, Marya? I thought you were over this. Please? The docs say you need a brain scan, and so do I, because in case you haven’t noticed, you’re speaking Russian.” 

There’s a pause, then, “Ну и что? Так проще.”

Bucky frowns, but doesn’t respond. Apparently, the silence goes on too long for Marya, because she says, “I’m sorry. I’ll speak English.”

“That’s not… Just please have the scan. For me. I get that you hate scans, but you know they won’t hurt you and I’ll be right there like always, huh?”

“I don’t want it.”

“I know, Sweetheart.”

“I will heal even if there is an injury.”

“I know that, too. Just like you know that knowing what’s wrong can help the docs make you more comfortable and sometimes do things to make it heal faster. This same argument— C’mon. You’re scaring me now.”

“Very well,” she sighs. “For you.”

Bucky leans over and pushes the button to call the nurse before Marya can change her mind.

* * *

It takes quite a few stitches to close the stab wound in Cap’s shoulder, and he grouches the entire time. The annoyance is familiar, but Steve was never so vocal about it. Barnes is grateful for that, for the edge to Cap’s irritation, because it keeps him from falling completely into déjà vu. He and Steve were in this same room, this same position, this same situation, a million times. Sometimes it was Steve making Barnes get treatment for some injury, but more often it was the other way around.

Given the circumstances, Barnes couldn’t avoid being reminded of Steve if he tried. He doesn’t exactly mind it, but his feelings right now are complicated. There’s the always-simmering guilt of being attracted to a man other than Steve, marbled through with the confusion caused by the fact that the other man _is_ Steve. That’s layered on the undeniable fear of letting himself care about someone again, especially when that someone spends his life in as much danger as Steve ever did. 

And all of that is overshadowed and permeated by a raging desire that is getting no help from the fact that Cap is shirtless and fresh from a fight. Cap is also making no secret of the fact that all the leftover fight-or-flight hormones and the relief of survival coursing through him right now are driving him out of his mind with lust. Just like Steve. Just like Barnes. 

_Shit_. If Barnes doesn’t walk away now and find some urgent post-battle tasks to perform, Barnes is going to tackle Cap onto the nearest flat surface the minute his wound is sewn up. 

Barnes doesn’t walk away. 

The doctor tries to give Cap instructions for taking care of his wounds, which Cap takes with obviously-forced patience. He’s kind but dismissive as he gets up from the gurney, saying, “I only have the one cut, and that’ll be healed by morning. Been here before, son. Appreciate your help; now go take care of somebody who needs it.”

Cap brushes against Barnes as he passes him, saying nothing but heading straight for the elevator. His uniform’s too torn and bloody to put back on, but he doesn’t bother trying to find a shirt to wear. Barnes follows. He gives no thought to the hungry way he’s watching Cap move, appreciating the play of muscles across his back, and his insane shoulder-to-waist ratio. When the elevator doors open, a few people get off, but several others remain. 

The closest woman to the buttons asks what floor they want and Barnes experiences a near-painful jolt of electricity when Cap gives the number for Barnes’s floor. 

And only Barnes’s floor.

They still don’t speak as they make their way down the hall to Barnes’s apartment; once the door is open, Barnes simply steps aside so Cap can enter. That’s when, inevitably, Cap turns to grab Barnes by the shoulders and throw him into the wall of the small foyer. He instantly follows, crashing into Barnes with his full weight and pressing his entire length against him. 

His mouth is on Barnes’s, hot and demanding, and getting an equally urgent welcome. They scrabble with their arms a bit until Cap gets a handful of Barnes’s hair and the other hand grasps his hip, moving Barnes exactly the way Cap wants to and keeping him where Cap wants him. Barnes is an enthusiastic participant, spreading one hand across that broad, bare back and one across that perfect ass, but he’s along for the ride. Cap is absolutely driving; pulling at his hair to tilt his head, pushing at his hip to grind their groins together. Barnes is already making needy noises, and Cap? Cap is actually _growling_. 

Cap knows how Barnes’s uniform fastens – no one better – and he manages to keep their hips pressed together hard while he leans back just enough to roughly yank the tabs open. He sweeps the zipper down in one lightning-fast movement, immediately pulling the sides apart. There’s some desperate, awkward shifting of their bodies to get it off Barnes’s shoulders and down his arms – complete with ripping sounds – but finally, Cap is able to tear it off.

He crushes Barnes against the wall again, at last feeling the tingling warmth of skin on skin.

“Fuck, Jim—” he manages to groan.

“Immediately,” Barnes gasps into their filthy kisses.

That gets a deep moan and already, Cap’s fumbling with the hook at the waistband of Barnes’s tac pants. They might achieve their goal faster if they weren’t in such a frenzy, but neither of them has a thought except to be rid of their fucking clothes as soon as possible. 

When they’ve each managed to undo the other’s pants, Cap pulls his mouth off of Barnes’s just far enough to grunt, “Be sure about this. 'Cause you let me get my hands on you, I’m gonna wreck you, doll.”

“Countin’ on it. Anything less, I’ll know you’re all talk.”

Cap hisses, "Fuck," as he resumes his brutal assault on Barnes' mouth. He lays one forearm flat to the wall beside Barnes' head and snakes the other arm around his waist, with his huge hand splayed across his ass, pulling Barnes tight against him while he presses him into the wall.

Barnes can't help but feel the full length of his cock, rock-hard and grinding against his own. He moves his hips, too, and wraps his arms back around Cap, unable to get close enough no matter how tightly Cap's crushing him.

Long, dirty moments of rubbing together and greedy, tongue-heavy kisses later, Cap uses the arm at Barnes’s waist to pull him forward as Cap takes a step back. As soon as Barnes’s back leaves the wall, Cap swings them around so that he can walk, nudging Barnes along before him, into the living room. His lips never leave Barnes’s – Barnes doesn’t let them – and their hands begin tugging their own pants down for the several steps until Cap feels a rug beneath his feet. 

Again, there’s no hesitation. Barnes pushes his pants below his knees and works his boots off so that he can kick the whole tangle out of the way. Cap does the same. The second they’re both naked, Barnes pulls Cap to the floor on top of him, latching onto his lips again. Their hands are suddenly everywhere, stroking as they explore, and Barnes’s legs instinctively spread so that Cap’s hips settle onto his. They both cry out as their cocks meet and they begin to move obscenely together. 

At some point, Cap rolls them over so that he can get his hands on Barnes’s ass, the way Barnes has been pawing at his. From here, he can thrust up against Barnes, who is already doing a masterful job of writhing Cap into blind madness. He gasps Barnes’s name. “The body on you! You feel like— Shit, you feel so fuckin’ good— I gotta… I wanna—"

Barnes keeps up the merciless teasing of his tongue against Cap’s as he reaches out an arm to yank open a little drawer in the coffee table they’re lying next to. The drawer slams against its catch, the only thing that keeps it from pulling out and spilling its contents all over, and Barnes paws around noisily for a while before coming up with a quarter-full bottle of lube. 

“You wanna…? Or…?”

Once again, Cap rolls them over so that Barnes is under him. He takes the lube from Barnes. “Oh, no. Not this time. I gotta get my dick in you. Haven’t been able to think about anything else. You’re so damned sexy I can’t think straight, all I wanna do is fuck you until we’re both screamin’ from it.”

Already he’s got a handful of the cool slick. He slides his hips to one side of Barnes’s so that he can reach between his legs, and takes his first, long look at all of Barnes spread out on the floor for him. He’s flushed and panting, eyes dilated almost black, cock long and hard, twitching in his excitement.

“Holy fuck, Jim, I never wanna do anything but this for the rest of my life. You’re like a statue of a Greek god, you know that? So fuckin’ beautiful—”

In his haste, Cap wastes no time. He reaches his hand out to stroke the lube onto Barnes’s hole, then continues up to cup his balls while he’s rolling up onto his knees so that he can slide his mouth down Barnes’s chest and abdomen to his cock. They both groan as he eagerly takes it into his mouth, tongue exploring as he slides his hand back to tease Barnes’s hole with the tips of his fingers. 

“Fuck, Steve—” 

At that, Cap stops what he’s doing and looks up to Barnes’s eyes. “You know which one I am?”

“I know who you are, Cap. I ain’t confused. Just fuck me, ‘cause your mouth—”

Barnes lets his head fall back onto the rug and moans as Cap licks around the head of his cock before taking it back into his mouth. He’s rolling his hips, and Cap feels him pushing into the fingertips he’s using to tease his hole. It’s the most unbearably sexy sight he’s ever seen, and the most devastatingly dirty thought, that Jim Barnes is silently begging Cap to finger him. He drizzles more lube onto his fingers and, slowly but firmly, slides two into the pressing heat of Barnes’s asshole. He gets an even better sound out of Barnes than he’d hoped for, and his own cock is leaking as much as Barnes’s is. 

This is another thing that Barnes’s Steve would never do: breach him initially with two fingers at once. It’s a lot, and it burns, but with so much lube, it’s an overwhelming, delicious sensation that could make Barnes come if he let it. His Steve was always solicitous, so careful to make sure he never hurt Barnes when they fucked, and he was the same way with Steve. But this Steve is entirely different, and Barnes feels a twinge of disloyalty at how insanely hot it is that Cap is so rough and demanding. It’s something Barnes has fantasized about, but knew Steve would never do. Even if he did, he’d be too concerned to enjoy it. Not Cap. He knows he’s not hurting Barnes. He knows exactly what he’s doing to him, how fast and far he can go, how much of his mouth Barnes’s dick can take before he won’t be able to hold back. 

Barnes thinks he’s close to whining with the ecstasy of Cap’s slow, sure thrusts. He couldn’t control the way he’s fucking those fingers if he wanted to, and he doesn’t want to. Cap doesn’t want him to, either.

“That’s it, doll. Relax and enjoy it.” He takes a moment to drag a searing line up Barnes’s dick with his tongue. “Let me watch you take it, let me hear how much you like me finger-fucking you.”

“Oh, shit, Steve—”

“You ready for more? You want to feel me stretch you out so I can fuck you?”

Barnes is beyond words now. He lets loose a loud, breathy, primal cry by way of response. 

“Yeah, that’s it, Jim. You’re so perfect, you got no idea how perfect you are right now.” With that, Cap slides another heavily-slicked finger inside of Barnes, who lets out another shout, followed by a series of keening cries. Cap starts to lick and nibble his way up Barnes’s body, keeping his fingers moving inside of him and paying attention to what makes him react. 

“Steve, fuck… I’m… You’re gonna—”

“Yeah, I am gonna,” Cap murmurs wickedly, slowly sliding his fingers free. He squirts a line of lube onto his cock as he shifts his hips, spreading it quickly and haphazardly as he positions himself between Barnes’s legs.

“You want a pillow, doll?”

Cap doesn’t wait for an answer, just reaches a long arm to snag the edge of a throw pillow and pull it from the couch. Barnes lifts his hips obediently, and Cap gets a mouthwatering view as he slips the pillow beneath his ass. “So pretty… gonna eat that sweet thing later. But right now—”

Barnes is already pushing himself toward Cap as the tip of his cock touches his hole. “Yeah?” Cap grins.

“Fuck me!” is all Barnes can manage.

So Cap leans over Barnes, putting a hand down beside his chest, and holds his dick as he rocks his weight forward. There’s resistance, but between Cap thrusting toward him and Barnes lifting his legs to pull at Cap’s hips with his heels, Cap’s cock soon breaches Barnes and they both gasp. 

Cap stretches out over Barnes, a hand on his metal shoulder as if to hold him in place. Barnes’s head is thrown back and Cap takes in his expression, half-tortured and half lost in ecstasy, while he pushes slowly but relentlessly into him. “Open your eyes, doll. Look at me.”

Barnes does, and he’s so sex-drunk his eyes look glassy, but he locks onto Cap’s eyes and whatever emotions he might be feeling, Cap doesn’t see reluctance or regret. Certainly there’s no hint of reservation in the way Barnes rocks against him to take in that last inch. 

“Yeah. Oh, yeah,” Barnes murmurs.

Cap leans down and kisses him, and the kiss turns quickly messy. When it’s over, Cap starts to move, and Barnes eagerly braces his feet against Cap’s flanks, encouraging his tentative thrusts. It’s so good, so hot and tight, Cap worries about coming first. He decides to make sure that doesn’t happen.

“C’mon, doll, I wanna see you come now. Will you come for me while I fuck you?” Soon his thrusts are long and deep, getting progressively harder as Barnes signals that’s what he wants.

“Fuck! Cap… Steve… Feels so fuckin’ good! I’m gonna come,” Barnes cries.

“That’s right, doll,” Cap grunts through gritted teeth. He lifts up to reach for Barnes’s impossibly hard dick between them, but Barnes makes a negative noise and pulls him back down onto him. 

“Just you. Just your cock in me.”

As if Cap wasn’t already having trouble holding off his orgasm watching this gorgeous man thrash and babble with need while Cap pounds into him. 

Luckily for Cap, Barnes shudders convulsively at that moment and gives a strangled scream as he digs his fingers into Cap’s ass and bites down on his shoulder. He’s coming hard, shooting what feels like a deluge of hot seed between them. Barnes hisses an inarticulate string of filthy nonsense interspersed with cries as he jerks with wave after wave of pleasure. 

When Cap hears his own name in there, it’s too much. He’s helpless to stop the spasm of ecstasy that grabs old of him and carries him, screaming, over the edge. He explodes into Barnes, grinding down so hard it has to hurt, although Barnes seems beyond feeling that right now. Cap pumps into him, just letting the idea that he’s fucking Jim Barnes, unloading into him while Jim’s still shaking from his own orgasm, pull shudder after shudder of pleasure through him. 

Привет Hi, Hello.

Я в порядке I’m all right.

Мне это не нужно I don’t need that.

Ну и что? Так проще. So what? It’s just easier.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whoo. Is it hot in here, or is it Cap and Barnes? 
> 
> Please leave a comment, I'd love to hear from you! (Yes, YOU.) Or come say hi on Tumblr.


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